


Lay Here In My Arms

by acme146



Series: Fading Scars [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alice the Cat, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Demisexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Football, Genderfluid Teddy Lupin, History, Librarians, Life Partners, Mad-Eye the ferret, Mild Sexual Content (tagged inside), Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Polyamorous Relationships, Queer Relationships, Quidditch, Romance, Sikh Character, anxious character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acme146/pseuds/acme146
Summary: The love stories of the Next Generation, with track, football, jungles, cottages, anxiety, insecurity, comfort, books, stars and how each of them finds their way to their best self, and loves with all their hearts.





	1. Come Together

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a song: 'Warm Safe Place' by Aaron Pritchett.  
> Hello, it is I, the one with no chill! Here are the stories of the little darling Next Generation. This particular chapter has no sexual content, but I will warn when they do.

            They always came back together, somehow.

            When Victoire was born, Teddy was only just a year, and the first couple of years of their lives were a bit…tumultuous. Teddy was never cruel, but he enjoyed teasing Victoire. He was paid back once Victoire could walk and talk, and she would run and hide when he wanted to play. Harry and Fleur were worn down by trying to make peace between the toddlers, but Bill and Ginny just laughed. “They’ll laugh too, someday,” Bill predicted. “They’re just being babies.”

            But by the time he was four and she was three, they were nigh inseparable. Now bringing them to parties was always risky, because it meant at least an extra hour at the end to explain (for the hundredth time), that Bear and Daddy were _tired_ , and Fairy and Maman would bring them to play again soon, cross their hearts.

            They grew out of that clingy stage as more and more kids were added to the family circle, and both Teddy and Victoire found new playmates among the little ones. Still, they were the leaders of the pack, and they usually came up with the ideas.

            (That is, until Freddie and Lou and Lily got older and started shaping play time).

            When Victoire came to Hogwarts, she was sure she’d go into Hufflepuff with Teddy, and they’d have lots of fun. She cried her eyes out when she was Sorted into Ravenclaw, and she refused to sit at the Ravenclaw table for the first week.

            Then she made a friend with her patient roommate Jill, and the two of them found out they liked the same kinds of food, and Teddy had lots of friends. So Victoire spent a lot of time in the Ravenclaw tower and she saw Teddy in the classes they shared, and that was it.

            That first Christmas they got stuck at Hogwarts; it was the first year with two train trips, and the train broke down on the way back. Mum and Dad were going to come and get her and Teddy by Floo, but Hogwarts’ Floo connection had gone down.

             Later, Victoire and Teddy would find out that it had been caused by a mad attempt to bring down the whole Network by a somewhat brilliant but largely incompetent wizard that Harry yelled at for a solid hour after arresting him.

             All they knew then was that they were stuck indefinitely, and Victoire, whose homesickness had never quite abated, became ill with loneliness.

            Madam Hannah let Teddy stay with her in the Hospital Wing while they waited for the Floo, and prescribed several rounds of Exploding Snap and some of Uncle Neville’s (who was now off-duty) best stories. Teddy did his best to make her laugh, and it worked. They were inseparable for the next two years.

            Then, when Teddy was fourteen and she was thirteen, they started going out.

            Maman was concerned that they were too young, and she was right; they were silly about each other in the way children are, and they did little other than hold hands. They went on a date to Hogsmeade together, and then they bought each other necklaces for Christmas; simple imitation gold ones with a small blue stone.

            Then they broke up.

            When they were older, they tried to puzzle out why, but to be frank it never made sense. They’d gotten along beautifully, but after one month of feeling angry with each other they sort of…gave up.

            It made for an awkward summer holiday, with their parents being so careful not to choose sides that they made them both feel alienated, and the younger kids being furious that Vic and Teddy had “spoiled everything!”

            Finally, for the sake of the kids, Teddy and Victoire made up. They’d missed each other too, and before Teddy was fifteen he was dating Alex McCall, and Victoire poured herself into music, composing pretty songs without words, finding them only after long nights looking at the stars with a boy named Eric. Eric soon discovered he was closeted, but he gave Victoire a way to put her feelings into words as well as musical notes, and for that she was grateful.

            She dated on and off for the next couple of years; so did Teddy. Friends again, they would talk to each other about their relationships, commiserating about bad dates and congratulating about good ones. Teddy was the first person Victoire told about the boy who didn’t hear ‘no’. Her mother was the second at his insistence, and that boy was dealt with quite severely, once other girls had the courage to come forward. Victoire was one of the very few people who knew when Teddy realized that he could shift his whole body into a female form at will (though it was tricky). He only told her and his godparents, reasoning that it wasn’t really anyone’s damn business, and it was rare that he ever went the whole way; crossdressing was usually enough. Victoire understood, and shouted at Monica Johnson, who didn’t.

            Then on the day Teddy graduated, and Victoire sat with the rest of their family and cheered, she was horrified to discover two facts. One was that Teddy was really leaving next year, leaving to become an Auror. The second was that she was in love with him; really in love, not a childish crush.

            It could have been agony. It could have been hopeless.

            But Teddy realized those things too, and was amazed to see that he loved her back.

            The next year was tricky, but without being face to face they had to rely on letters. Victoire spent pages sorting out her feelings, being honest in a way she’d never needed to before. Teddy wrote her about all the parts of life he was afraid of, the parts that he didn’t want to discuss with anyone else, not even his Gran or godparents, the parts when he felt like she, and had no name for who she was in those moments. Those letters brought two people who had known each other all their lives together in a way that seventeen years of talking hadn’t. Victoire was the one who came up with a name for Teddy when he felt like a she. “Call yourself Maia[1],” she suggested. “It fits with the family tradition.”

            From then on, Victoire would sometimes receive letters signed Maia, including one that asked if Victoire was even attracted to Maia.

            _You’re gorgeous, Maia. I want you when you’re Maia, and I want you when you’re Teddy._

            And when they’d been together three whole years, past graduation and past Victoire getting her first contract to write music and Teddy’s Auror training, Teddy surprised her one night with a little cottage in the middle of the woods, with a beautiful garden full of flowers. There was a magical piano in the living room, and a table by the window overlooking a pond. Victoire recognized the gift for what it was. “I’m not going in,” she said. “I want to wait until the day we get married.”

            That day was still three years off, but the little house was content to wait while they sorted through their grown up life. Victoire spent nine of those months pregnant by her own choice, and Teddy didn’t suggest they get married right away. Instead, they waited until their daughter Estelle Fay was almost a year old, old enough to wear a matching dress with her father and walk down the aisle with her mother and grandfather.

 

[1] One of the Pleiades


	2. Greatest Joy and Privilege: Dominique (Nicky)/Lara Cassiano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky, born Dominique, has her mind set on the future, on adventures and curse-breaking.  
> Her heart, however, hasn't made up its mind...

“I cannot live without brainwork. What else is there to live for?”

-Sherlock Holmes

            Dominique was eight when she was presented with the _Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes_ by her grandfather, who’d discovered shopping in Muggle used bookstores with Aunt Hermione. Daddy told her to be sure to come to him and Maman if she was ever nervous after reading, but Dominique never was. After all, they always solved the case, and the baddies were caught, and it was such a lovely bunch of stories.

            She also learned how to articulate the way she felt about her family’s fame.

            “Work is its own reward,” Holmes told Watson, and Dominique understood that. She understood the underlying frustration in the detective’s words when he grumbled about Watson’s stories. Holmes didn’t really want to be famous. He’d rather just do his work.

            Dominique was very proud of her parents once she was old enough to understand all of it; the Weasley name (“ _and_ Delacour!” she and her siblings would say indignantly) was well-known. But when she was too little, she was frightened by all the stares, worried by the strangers who cried and thanked her parents over and over…she didn’t want to go anywhere in public with Uncle Harry for six months after a particularly intense episode in Diagon Alley.

            Instead, she and Uncle Harry would go for walks in Scamander’s Park near dawn or near sunset, and Uncle Harry would listen to her talk about anything. And he would be patient and kind, and he let her hide her face in his side when strangers ( _always_ strangers!) wanted to hear stories from him.

            Dominique got older and she learned the reasons, the horrible, terrible reasons her family was famous. And of course people were expecting her to be like them, but there was no war! There was nothing for her to fight, nothing to stand up to! But there were…there were problems to solve, curses as old as time. Maybe that was what she could fight. Maybe then she wouldn’t be a ‘Weasley kid’.

            Maybe then strangers would leave her alone.

            Dominique left before her NEWTS, wanting to get started on chasing down curses. She was Nicky when she took her first solo Portkey to Japan, Nicky Weasley. She’d thought about changing it to Delacour, having a real fresh start, but Lou had already begun to make a name for themselves as Lou Delacour, so she couldn’t really avoid it.

            Anyways, she wasn’t ashamed of her name. She just wanted to be left alone.

            And she was, mostly, for the first two years. She joined up with her Dad every once in a while and blew back into the Burrow once a year and brought everyone presents. She built temporary homes in trees and in caves and in the middle of huge, empty, open fields, the ground itself cursed long ago. Her collection of tattoos soon outshone Aunt Luna’s, one for every place she’d been.

            If she wasn’t with Dad, she travelled alone. That was how she operated. Most people couldn’t put up with her long hours (she’d trained herself to need only four hours of sleep, and could walk a marathon in a jungle in one day), or her blunt tongue. But there wasn’t really time for talking. She needed her wits about her, focused on the curses she was searching for.

            So when Aunt Ginny asked her for a favour, it was a tough one.

            “The _Daily Prophet_ is working on getting more international news,” Aunt Ginny wrote. “They want to do an article exchange with _Gazeta Magia_ and they thought about asking you for an interview. The journalist has agreed to travel with you. Will you do it, Nicky?”

            And Nicky grumbled, but wrote back affirmatively.

            Lara Cassiano joined her just outside of Rio. She didn’t ask very many questions, she just sort of observed as Nicky did research on a former coven site about twenty miles into the jungle. Lara was going to return to Rio with her story, but when Nicky realized that the curse was active on the night of a new moon—that night—she dashed off, and Lara followed.

            Nicky wasn’t entirely sure why.

            She found out quickly when she and Lara were forced to combat a nest of boitatá, the remnants of the witches’ pets. Nicky was amazed by Lara’s skill; the journalist cut down three of the snakes and recited the long banishment spell flawlessly as Nicky burned the remnants of the covens’ base to the ground, dispatching the spirits that held the curse. It was dark when they were finished, but Lara’s eyes still sparkled.

            “I wanted to be a fighter,” she explained. “But my parents forbade it.”

            After that, Lara travelled with her as a correspondent. And Nicky began to be recognized when she travelled, because Lara’s illustrations were as detailed as her writing, if a little too flattering. Their first argument was about why Lara never wrote about her own bravery and intelligence, why Nicky was always the hero.

            “I’m writing it the way I see it, _querida,”_ Lara protested. Then she turned crimson, because she’d never called Nicky that before.

            Nicky picked up the draft of Lara’s latest article, written both in Portuguese and in English, so Nicky could learn the language. Lara had never written that word down before, but Nicky knew what it meant.

            “Then I’ll write too,” she said, and then shakily, because she’d never been in love and didn’t know how to start, “ _querida.”_

Nicky’s first works were appalling, and she was loath to let Lara see them, but Lara read them anyways, treasured the broken Portuguese mixed with English. And they travelled together and built temporary tree houses and slept in caves and walked hand in hand through busy streets, and Nicky didn’t mind if people stared anymore. The only eyes she cared about were Lara’s, and if Lara wanted to write about her, that was alright.

            So long as she stopped acting like she was only a faithful follower, rather than an equal partner in their mad dash around the world, solving old curses and letting new stories be told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I might have been a little heavy-handed with the Sherlock Holmes references.  
> I don't care at all :)  
> Cheers,  
> Acme  
> PS: Chapter title is also a Sherlock Holmes quote:  
> “You know,” I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes’s heart before, “that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you.”- John Watson, The Adventure of the Devil's Foot


	3. The Battles in My Heart (Freddie/Rita/Pierre)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being in love with someone means your brain, your heart and your body are involved. Freddie Weasley faces obstacles with two of the three. Luckily, his heart is strong enough for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for discussion of anxiety and depression. There's also sexual content; I would say high T, maybe M. It is brief, but it merits a heads-up.   
> The title is from the lovely song 'Inner Demons' by Julia Brennan.

There was a certain inborn prejudice in Freddie’s family about people called Rita. And Tom, but that was fairly universal (with the One Exception of Tom the retired bartender).

So one summer when Rolf introduced his niece as Rita Scamander, Freddie was prepared to dislike her.

            Rita went to Beauxbatons, a choice no one in her mainly-Durmstrang-alumni family understood. But she absolutely loved it there, and somehow listening to her talk about her school was so fascinating that Freddie hardly got a word in edgewise. He didn’t really want to.

            Freddie’s desires were simple. He wanted to make people laugh, he wanted to understand how people thought, and he wanted someone who would love that he was a Slytherin. Not someone who would accept that wearing green and silver wasn’t the end of the world; someone who understood the values behind the green and silver, and shared them. In a family that accepted him and Lou but still wore mainly primary colours, Freddie longed for a meeting of the minds. He hadn’t even found it in his own house; none of the boys interested him so far, and the girls were either too ruthless or too serious for his liking.

            Rita, on the other hand, reminded him a bit of Aunt Gabrielle, whose exploits in France’s fashion scene left many people gawking. Aunt Gabrielle had several piercings, swore fluently in six languages and did everything in her power to make herself look ugly (she never did succeed). She was also one of the kindest women Freddie knew. She worked for animal rights, including delivery owls and familiars, and fought fiercely for the rights of refugees from dark wizards all over the world. Voldemort, it turned out, was not alone in his quest to ‘purify’ wizard kind, though his fellow monsters had differences in the ones they considered unworthy.

            So when Aunt Gabrielle met Rita and they got on well, Freddie knew she was the one.

            It took some convincing. Rita was dead set against a relationship, and it took a few letters to understand why.

            _I wasn’t born Rita Scamander,_ her letter said. _I was born Rita Karkaroff. Mum and Dad adopted me when I was five, but I still have Death Eater blood. It’ll be too much scandal._

Freddie’s response was blunt and to the point. _I love you._  

            Falling into bed with Rita was a whole other challenge. To Freddie’s surprise, he was actually quite nervous about sex. He’d always enjoyed flirting with other interested parties, but other than a few dates had never gotten very far. Rita was enthusiastic, and Freddie wanted to please her, but he panicked the first time she took off his shirt.

            Rita backed away immediately. “What’s wrong?”

            “I don’t know,” Freddie said hopelessly.

            He talked to his father, and George was a bit surprised too. He questioned Freddie carefully, more frightened of the answers than Freddie, but nothing had caused it. Freddie was just…afraid.

            “I don’t really know how to help you, son,” George confessed. “Do you want to go see Aunt Hannah’s friend?”

            ‘Aunt Hannah’s friend’ was a doctor, a woman sworn to secrecy by the Ministry to show them how to do psychiatry the Muggle way. Freddie had never been good friends with her, but Dr. Selma proved to be quite helpful.

            When Freddie managed to spit out his issue at last, Dr. Selma looked thoughtful. “Freddie, have you ever been to one of the magical Mind Healers?”

            “No, ma’am.”

            “I see. Freddie, I think you might have anxiety. That’s what’s causing the panic.”

            “Anxiety?”

            That started a two hour discussion, during which Freddie was amazed to learn that no, not everyone thought about their to-do list constantly; no, it was concerning that he couldn’t sleep because his brain wouldn’t ‘turn off’; and yes, it was worrisome that every time his heart rate went up he felt panicked, even when it was from playing Quidditch…or being intimate.

            He was eighteen that year. Eighteen, with family, friends, and an amazing girlfriend. How could he dare to feel unhappy?

            “Brains are complicated, Freddie. Yours is different.”

            Mum and Dad were equal parts relieved and horrified when he told them. Relieved, because it meant they had a name for what was troubling their son, and they could learn to help with it. Horrified, because they hadn’t known before.

            “I didn’t know myself,” Freddie reassured them. “I didn’t know that was something I could have.”

            He started seeing Dr. Selma once a week, and they worked through his anxiety. Freddie confessed his worries about his body (he was definitely the plainest in his family; plain was almost worse than ugly); he talked about his worries about how he could take on his father and uncles’ legacy when he had so many bad days; and he talked about how terrible he felt that these problems bothered him so badly in the first place.

            “My parents lived through a war! My family lost so many people; I’m named for my father’s dead twin! How can I sit here and say I need any kind of help?”

            “You’re fighting your own battles,” Dr. Selma said. “Just because it’s in your head doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

            Freddie cried then.

            Rita was patient, endlessly patient, and she came to a couple of sessions with him. Then she went a couple of times on her own. They didn’t talk about everything that went on behind Dr. Selma’s door, but it was enough knowing that they were being honest with each other about everything else.

            “Some secrets are okay,” Rita said. “Some hurt you too bad to keep.”

            Freddie kept going to counselling, and eventually started taking pills, pills that helped the worst days be as manageable as the good days. He became more comfortable talking to his family about his worries, and he was very proud when both Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron asked for his therapist’s name.

            And he and Rita learned to be comfortable with their own bodies, with each other’s bodies, including their brains. Intimacy was slow, but it felt earned.

            The first time they had full intercourse, orgasm felt like triumph.

            Freddie had been helping in his father’s store as his treatments happened, and when his appointments with Dr. Selma turned from weekly to biweekly, then to monthly, his Dad had an idea.

            “We need someone new to run the store in France, Freddie. Hector wants to retire, and I think you’d be a great fit.”

            Freddie swallowed hard, thinking about moving to a new country where he didn’t know the language well, into a job where he had to represent his family’s name. Then he thought of Aunt Gabrielle, who was established in Paris, of Rita who wanted to start her own clothing business, and of how much fun it was working with his family, even if they were a continent away.

            By September, he and Rita were across the Channel, with a small flat above the jokes shop and a robes store a few blocks away, right next door to _Garments de Gabrielle._ Rita worried she was stepping on her mentor’s toes, but Gabrielle’s work was different, avant-garde in the materials and patterns. Rita still used wool and cloth and silk, but the colours were what defined her works; clever combinations and designs that were sold to anyone who liked them, regardless of gender or creed. She experimented with Muggle clothing too, and _Reveille_ was soon doing as well as the joke shop.

            They bought a nicer flat, close to the Tour D’Eiffel, and they ate macarons and went to the wizarding depanneurs for fresh bread and potion ingredients. Freddie became fluent in French, while Rita still stumbled over French but communicated well with the Eastern European clients who came on a certain Quidditch star (and former Triwizard Champion)’s recommendation. Freddie still had rough moments and bad days, and Rita still pulled away sometimes, worried they were making a mistake, but they soothed each other and found places and moments of calm, of peace.

            And then came Pierre.

            Pierre Dwayne, who damn near knocked Freddie off his feet with how attractive he was. Rita was enchanted by him too, this polite Frenchman who was nearly a foot taller than both of them. He worked for Rita nominally, helping her organize her cloths and lift boxes of materials, but he spent a good bit of time at the joke shop. Freddie was frightened for the first time, frightened that Rita might leave not for herself or her father’s name, but for _him._ And Rita became fractious, wearing her best clothes by turns and old raggedy ones by others, reasoning that Freddy could leave if he _wanted_ to.

            When Freddie’s parents came to visit, Angelina picked up on the tension. And when she saw Pierre, she understood what might be going on.

            She pulled her son aside that night and told him a story. A story of two couples who’d met on the Quidditch field, and who had separate lives and children, but sometimes came together in bed, because they fit together.

            Freddie had never dreamed that his parents had been unhappy in their marriage. They’d always seemed so happy.

            “We are happy,” Angelina promised him. “But sometimes you love more people than your partner. And sometimes, when you’re lucky, you can find a way to work that out. I’m in love with your Dad; I’m not really in love with either Oliver or Katie. But I love them both dearly, and it’s nice to find a way to get all that you want.”

            Freddie called a meeting with Rita and Pierre the next day. It was a strange conversation, but it was necessary, and it brought about an interesting routine.

            Pierre kept his own life, but he spent nights at their place quite often. It took a long time for Freddie to be willing and able to have sex with both his lovers at the same time, but he watched until he could.

            Freddie still had bad days, and he still had moments where he was terrified he would lose everything; Pierre, Rita, the shop, his family, his mind. But the moments passed with long walks, talking with Dr. Selma and sex itself. (Ironic, that it once scared him).

            But they grew fewer, and he knew how to cope with them, and the day that Rita told him that she was pregnant and not positive whether he or Pierre was the father, he was able to laugh, hold her close, and promise that it was his child either way, and he was looking forward to being a dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit personal for me; I have anxiety and depression, and I had several of the same struggles that Freddie faces (not the sex thing, but that's extrapolation). Please be kind to yourselves, and remember that there are places to find help if you look, whatever they may be.   
> On a lighter note, does anyone get the pun name?   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	4. History Lessons (Roxanne Weasley/Nat Blythe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxanne has a habit of putting her foot in her mouth. Luckily, she's met someone who has the right words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late! I just moved on Saturday and I JUST GOT WIFI TODAY. But it's up now!

Roxanne spent much of her time in the library, so she got to know the other regulars. Not by talking; all of them were quiet. But she recognized the blond Slytherin who was always reading about Transfiguration, the Hufflepuff with hair as dark as his skin and bright blue eyes that never seemed to finish a book, and the Gryffindor who murmured in frustrated Vietnamese under their breath.

And she noticed Nat Blythe.

Nat was a year behind her, but Ravenclaws were a close bunch. Roxanne knew the favourite colours, work habits and family history about almost member of her House. Except Nat.Oh, if you asked Nat about herself, she would answer you truthfully. And she wasn’t alone that often; indeed, she had many friends. But when people really tried to pin her down, it was the work she did that people remembered.

The Ravenclaw common room had its own little library of commonplace books, which were free to use by anybody. It was a longstanding tradition that the first-years would take one and keep it with them, writing whatever they liked in them. When they were full, they would put them in the library for the others to read (categorized by subject, of course). There was no rule about only having one, but very few people had more than two kinds of thoughts that they would share with the others.

Nat Blythe took three.

One of her books found a home on the poetry shelf, and it was read a lot. Roxanne was one of the first, ready with her blue ink to offer constructive criticism (that had been drummed into their heads quickly, you don’t tear down other people’s work). Instead, she found herself underlining passages, and cooing out loud at the phrasing. She wasn’t the only one. Nat’s book was one of the most frequent read-alouds in the common room, and Nat would always just smile and say she was happy people got so much good from her writing, but had they read this other notebook, because there was so much cleverness there she could burst.

The second book was a collection of stories. They were charming, short and poignant. There were a few pages at the back of that one left blank, with a note from Nat saying that if anyone wanted to continue the stories, they were welcome to do so.

The third hadn’t been returned yet. Whenever Roxanne saw Nat, she had it tucked in her bag, just peeking out, like it was demanding new words. When Roxanne sat to do her homework in the library (which wasn’t often—the shelves themselves were too distracting, and she’d gotten more than one poor mark because she’d read something fascinating instead of the assignment), she would see Nat with a stack of books, reading carefully, and adding just one or two notations to the book. Once or twice Roxanne caught a glimpse of tiny handwriting, but she didn’t pry. Until it was on the shelf, it was private work.

When Roxanne was relaxing after her OWLs (done at last, no more nonsense, she was free from Potions forever!), she realized that she and Nat were the only two in this section of the library. Nat was deep in her research, and maybe because she was tired, maybe because she was happy, Roxanne spoke up at last.

“Your hair keeps falling in your face.”

Merlin, what had she just said?

Nat looked up. “I know. No matter what my stupid hair won’t stay.”

“I could help you,” Roxanne offered, trying to offer a reason for her ridiculous observation. She’d inherited her mother’s hair (in her father’s shade) but not her patience for braiding, and her curls would fall every which way if not for charmed ponytail holders and quite a bit of experimentation.

“Um…sure.”

Roxanne got up and stood behind Nat. She took soft brown hair in her hands, making sure to gather the long front hair, and twisted it carefully into a knot. Retrieving one of her ponytail holders from around her wrists, she wound it around the knot twice. Satisfied, she stepped away. “How’s that?”

Nat felt the knot. “It’s not coming out! It always does.”

“I have a gift. And a couple of Charms mixed together that my Uncle Lee taught me.”

“Can I borrow your Uncle Lee?”

“I can just make you some ponytail holders. They’re dead easy, and I have loads already.”

“Thanks. You’re Roxanne, right?”

“Yes. Nat?” It was odd, really odd to do introductions after sharing a common room, sharing words with someone for four years.

Nat grinned. “That’s me.”

“What are you working on?”

_Roxanne, shut up! You’re not supposed to ask._

“I’m working on profiles.”

“Profiles? What do you mean?”

Nat showed her the book. There were short notes, about someone named Imogene Price.

“Who is she?”

“She was Voldemort’s maternal grandmother.”

Roxanne looked up. “Why?”

“I’m trying to…” Nat blushed. “I’m working on a big project, about the last two Wizarding Wars. Only I want to get the whole picture, tell everyone’s story. The dead, the living…it takes a long time, I’ve been working on it as long as I’ve been here.”

The notebook was only half-full.

“I was born after the war,” Nat said. “Of course I was. But my mother…she lost her cousins and her aunt and uncle. And there are so many questions, and I wanted to try and remember everyone, everyone that died and lived…all those stories. I don’t want them to get lost.”

Roxanne studied her for a minute. “How have you been doing this?”

“I look through history books for names, and then I start combing through records. There’s all sorts of stuff in here—old letters, even some diaries people donated. I’ve gotten all sorts of information.”

“You’ve never asked me,” Roxanne pointed out. “Or my cousins. Our family went through both Wars.”

Nat looked horrified. “Of course not! I would never ask that.”

“Why not? They do talk about the wars sometimes.”

“Yes, but…this is me trying to do a project. I would feel terrible asking a person to relive that.”

“How are you ever going to get the full story?”

“I don’t want to make anyone relive their losses,” Nat said stubbornly. “Not for curiosity.”

“You just said you wanted to make sure the stories don’t get lost,” Roxanne replied. “I’m sure they don’t want to either. They might ask you if you could wait to publish or something, but I think most of them would want you to tell the story as well as possible. And Nat, you can. You have beautiful writing.” She thought for a minute. “Could you write a profile of my Uncle Fred? I know my Dad would love it.”

Nat looked scared, but she swallowed hard. “Do you really think I’m good enough to do this?”

Roxanne thought of Nat’s poetry, the gentle way she treated heartbreak, and thought of her father’s grieving face each April 1st. “I think you just might be perfect.”

They met a few more times in the library before the end of term. Roxanne relayed every story she could remember about her uncle, and the last time they met invited Nat to her house. “Come and meet my family,” she urged her. “Dad knew him best.”

Nat was a little overawed by their house and the large assortment of family who traipsed through, but Roxanne’s Mum and Dad did their best to put her at ease.

When Nat brought up the profile Dad thought about it for a long moment. “I don’t want anyone to forget Fred,” he said at last. “And if Roxy says you’re the best one to do it, I believe her.”

They talked for three hours. Roxanne’s Mum went in at one point, and Roxanne heard the Floo crackling a couple of times, but she didn’t see who came. Nat stumbled out at the end, eyes swollen, and fell into Roxanne’s arms. Roxanne hugged her tight, hands going automatically to put Nat’s hair up in a bun.

When she pulled away, Nat’s eyes were feverish. “I need to write,” was all she said.

Roxanne went to get her tea (an advantage of not working in the library), and she kept Nat company while she wrote. Nat didn’t speak, and she crossed a lot of things out and muttered to herself, but she laid her free hand in Roxanne’s, tracing her knuckles with her thumb when she stopped to think.

When Nat presented Roxanne’s parents with her profile of Fred Weasley the first, they both cried. “You captured him,” George whispered. “Thank you, thank you so much…”

Angelina hugged Nat. “Your girlfriend is brilliant, Roxy,” she whispered, eyes overbright.

“Girlfriend?” Roxanne asked, stunned. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

This time she was quicker to understand, and before Nat’s face became too heartbroken, she continued quickly, “would you like to be?”

Nat ended up spending half the summer at Roxanne’s. Dad started talking to the rest of the family about Nat’s writing, and slowly people started coming over. At first they would talk about the dead—family, friends, classmates, neighbours. Nat’s commonplace book was nearly full when they started at last to speak about themselves.

When they went back to school, Roxanne was proud to hold Nat’s hand (her left one, always her left one), and they did spend some time together outside. They picnicked by the lake, traipsed through Hogsmeade together, and even explored the Forbidden Forest on a wintry night and saw three unicorns with a baby.

Most of their time together, though, was at the library. Roxanne would help Nat find the books she needed and organize the sources people owled her. Uncle Harry and Aunt Luna came one night and, very seriously, gave them several vials of crystal liquid, and pulled out the Pensieve from Professor McGonagall’s closet.

“We couldn’t find the proper words for these memories,” Uncle Harry said. “But they’re part of the story too. Watch them if you like.”

Roxanne cried during the memory of the celebration of Uncle Harry finishing the first Triwizard Task. “I’ve never seen Uncle Fred like this,” she sobbed. “Oh God, they were so young! Damn it, damn it…”

One commonplace notebook quickly became three, and then four, and then five. The school years flew by, as if they both couldn’t wait to be finished. In some ways, they couldn’t. Madam Pince had already informed Roxanne that she would be taking over the Hogwarts librarian position when she was finished, and she was planning how to change some parts of the library, to incorporate some new ways to find material (they needed an upgrade, and if they couldn’t have Google they would have the next best thing). Nat was ready, at last, to turn all of her profiles into a book, and try and publish it.

“And I’ll have a very good looking librarian to help me finish my research,” Nat added.

As busy as they were, Nat made sure that Roxanne took time to finish her own commonplace book. Roxanne hadn’t shared it with anyone until Nat, always making up stories about what was inside it (“murder plots”, “dragon patterns”, and “Nunya” were the top answers).

When Roxanne opened it, most of the pages were filled. “It’s code,” she blushed. “I like playing with letters and numbers, and I’m trying to develop one that’s easy to remember, quick, and difficult to crack.”

“Not impossible?”

“Nothing’s impossible. My Uncle Ron hasn’t been jinxed to death by Aunt Ginny yet.”

Nat laughed.

Roxanne never did find a perfect code, but the one she developed that Nat couldn’t crack (“c’mon, Roxy, I know you better than anyone!”) she wrote outside of the notebook. She gave it to her cousin Teddy, who was starting at the Aurors.

When Nat graduated, she still spent most of her time at the Hogwarts library. She and Roxanne lived together in the little librarian’s room, which turned out to be right off the Restricted Section. Uncle Harry was indignant when he found out.

“Nobody’s ever mapped this place!”

“Uncle Harry, do you really think the Marauders would have been in Madam Pince’s bedroom?” Roxanne asked.

She’d never seen her uncle go quite that shade of red.

Nat’s book was published two years later. It was called Lives in War, stretched to two volumes, and kept selling out so fast bookstores couldn’t keep it in stock.

Everyone loved it, which didn’t surprise Roxanne at all. Nat got several owls from people who hadn’t come forward during the writing, asking if she wouldn’t mind writing something about a family member, about a story they knew, a friend they had lost. Nat said yes to all of them, but she was about to have two new demands on her time (she still managed to write a sequel a few years later, which technically took less time than the first).

The first was a teaching appointment. Professor Binns wanted to retire at last, and Nat and Roxanne moved to the History of Magic quarters (better windows, and less mumbling books).

The second was their wedding, the first since Teddy and Victoire, and the whole family got in on it. They had to hold their wedding at Hogwarts getting married (where else?) in the library, before going outside for a picnic lunch with all the guests. It was the only place where there was room for everyone who wanted to come.

A year later, they took their third time demand on by themselves. A little girl, three years old, whose mother had died before she could get to Dean and Parvati’s shelter. She was darker than Roxanne and bubblier than Nat, once she got used to her new mummies.

They raised Kitty at Hogwarts, and she spent most of the time Nat was teaching in the library with Roxanne, looking at history books.

After all, what else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to annegirlblythe, whose writing is beautiful and her comments inspiring. She volunteered to write Fred's profile on her tumblr, and here is the link: http://harryjamesheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/164621642850/a-few-things-about-fred-weasley-out-of-all-of-his  
> (One of these days I will use proper HTML. Today is not that day.)  
> Look out in the next couple of days if you're into Sherlock at all. Or if you're into fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, beautiful princesses, true love, or miracles. Either or.  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	5. Passionless, Passionate (James Sirius Potter/Abby Wood)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James S. doesn't like sex. Abby Wood doesn't like Quidditch. Luckily, they like each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Jabby time!   
> If you haven't yet, please read 'Fresh Pickled Toads', it introduces James' asexuality and a bit of Abby. I've put a reminder note in the text where it will be useful to see :)

            James didn’t meet Abby Wood until he was thirteen.

            Mum and Dad were still friends with Oliver and Katie, but the Woods weren’t often home; they both travelled for Quidditch (both played for Puddlemere, which made commentary interesting), and took their daughter with them. They didn’t come back much, and apparently Abby had a private tutor for her lessons.

            When they finally met, it was at the Quidditch World Cup. Abby was almost as tall as her mother, but she was still shorter than James. She sat beside him during the first match of Wales against Japan, but she didn’t seem very focused on the game. Instead, she showed James her latest knitting project and they talked about Wales’ Keeper, who did some beautiful Potions work when she wasn’t playing.

            After the game, they were sent to get water by their parents. James walked beside Abby, wondering what to say.

            “Is it nice, travelling all the time?”

            Abby shrugged. “It’s okay, I suppose. I’d _love_ to go to Hogwarts, but Mum and Dad reckon that I can start next fall. I’m only twelve, and I’d _miss_ them.”

            “My parents are away a fair bit,” James replied. “Mum covers sports all over, and Dad has missions. But they’re home whenever they can be.” And of course, he himself was away for most of the year now.

            “What position do you play in Quidditch?” he asked.

            “I don’t really play one.”

            “Well, of course you’re not on the team. I just mean—you must play with your parents for fun—”

            “I switch around.” Now Abby sounded different; cross. “I’m not very good at any of them.”

            “Oh. Well that’s okay, so long as you’re having fun.”

            Abby slammed the bucket down. “I’m not.”

            James looked at her in surprise. “You’re not? Well, why do you keep playing?”

            “That’s a stupid question. Of _course_ I have to play. My parents are both Quidditch _stars_ , and they _tour_ , and they’re making _special allowances_ so that I can get an education and _train professionally.”_ Abby sat on the ground. “I have to be good, and I have to love it, but I’m rubbish and I don’t like it at all.”

            James sat down next to her. “I’ve never met someone who talks in _italics,”_ he said, doing it purposely.

            “Mum says it’s me being dramatic. But I _want_ to be dramatic sometimes!”

            James smiled. “It’s not a bad thing.” He tried to think of the right thing to say. “Have you told your parents?”

            “They don’t believe me. Mum’s trying to talk Dad round to letting me go to Hogwarts. She thinks my trouble is that I don’t know enough people, or not enough _kinds_ of people. But I’ve met loads of people at Quidditch camps and games and I _like_ people, but I _don’t_ like _Quidditch.”_

            “What about it don’t you like?” James asked.

            Abby looked up at him. “No one’s _ever_ asked me that.”

            “That’s a logical question!” James was flummoxed. “What do they ask?”

            “When I’m going to change my mind.”

            “Well, what don’t you like about it?”

            Abby sighed. “I’m afraid of heights. That’s the first bit, but I’ve done my best to get over that, and I still don’t like playing. I suppose it’s the brutality. People just accept that terrible accidents happen, and it’s only a _game!”_

            “Your father almost died during a game, didn’t he?”

            Pain flashed in Abby’s eyes. “He collided with a Bludger. When he was getting well, he told me that he was glad he caught the _Quaffle_ first! I don’t understand! There are things worth dying for; _Quidditch_ isn’t one of them!”

            “Maybe you don’t feel that way, but he does.” James saw the same fervour in his own father’s eyes sometimes. “We can’t criticize the passions of others, but it’s wrong to impose our own, too.”

            Abby pulled at the grass. “Do you think you could help me explain all that? I just can’t fight about it again.”

            “Sure. I like helping people.”

            “Really? Abby picked up her bucket again. “Why?”

            “I suppose I’m alive because people helped my Mum and Dad, even in little ways. And if I’ve learned anything from reading, it’s that when you see something’s wrong, you have to do something.”

            After a long discussion that night, Oliver and Katie finally accepted that their only child didn’t like to play Quidditch.

            “We still love you,” Oliver said. He was joking, but Abby burst into tears.

            James left then, as a stunned Oliver held his daughter and Katie stroked her hair. He couldn’t help much more, and he had a feeling the family needed some time to sort themselves out.

            In September Abby came to Hogwarts, and she was sorted into Gryffindor as a second year. James was curious about her, but he did play Quidditch and was in Charms Club and in the new Defence club and still read a lot in the library (and watched Roxy and Nat not-make-eyes-at-each-other), so he didn’t see her much.

            But he and Abby did hang out sometimes with Hagrid, and he took them into the Forbidden Forest and introduced them to the centaurs. Abby was fascinated, and she ended up taking Divination and, when Professor Trelawney really couldn’t teach her much more, she followed Firenze into the Forest.

            Abby found delight on the football field too. Dean Thomas called her the ‘best forward he’d ever seen’. James couldn’t join the team (too busy), but he came to every single game he could, and the two of them would play on the weekends sometimes, just kicking the ball back and forth and running.

            And James slowly, slowly, painfully, found out that his own passion was not for the flesh. When he and Jenny Marks had sex, he did everything he could to make sure she enjoyed it, but when it was over, she frowned at him.

            “What’s wrong with you? You don’t look happy.”

            “You were great, it’s nothing. I’m just…not used to it.”

            But it never got easier, and finally Jenny broke up with him, disgusted with his lack of interest. “You’re a freak, Potter. A damn freak, and you don’t deserve love!”  

            Albus and Company offered to curse her. James wouldn’t let him. Maybe he was a freak.

            “She’s horrid,” Abby said. “Why did you date her in the first place?”

            “She liked me,” James answered. “And she was different.”

            Abby squeezed his hand. “I don’t think you really want different.”

********

(And this is where ‘Fresh Pickled Toads happened so go check that out if you haven’t read it)

            After the big declaration in the hall, James took Abby by the hand and led her outside. “Are you sure?” he asked her. The scarf she’d made him was soft and fluffy against his neck.

            “Of _course_ I am, Jamie. Don’t worry, I _love_ you.”

            “Why do you love me?”

            “You’re the only person that asks the questions I _want_ to answer.” Abby laid her head on his shoulder. “I adore you, Jamie Potter. Now come on, let’s play football. We can skive off first period.”

            “Neither of us have class, it’s not skiving.”

            Abby transformed a rock into a football. “Don’t take the fun out of it, Head Boy.” She kicked the ball and started running, and laughing, James ran after her.

*************

            Everyone was delighted when James and Abby got together. The only people who felt mild panic were George and Oliver, who had a frantic consultation ensuring that yes, Abby was Oliver’s child, and in no way related to the Weasleys. When Katie overheard them, she nearly killed herself laughing.

            “Abby looks _exactly_ like Oliver, George! Don’t be stupid!”

            “We had to check!”

            “Have you checked Roxy and Freddie?” Oliver asked, nervous again.

            That prompted another round of laughter from Katie. “Oh, I’m telling Angie!”

            Abby and James never heard any of that conversation. They were busy being happy, and learning how to have a relationship that had none of the firsts of a conventional relationship. There were no bases, no fears of getting caught. They found other firsts instead; first time they slept through the night together (Abby snored); first time they danced on the Hogwarts roof together at midnight (James twisted his ankle and Abby had to carry him down to the Hospital Wing); the first time James was invited to Puddlemere United’s summer camp.

            “I know you don’t want to go professional,” Oliver explained, “but I thought you might enjoy it, and it will give Katie and I some time to get to know you better.”

            James came back from that week tired and feeling a bit like he’d been administered Veritaserum, but his goal shots were much stronger now and he understood Oliver and Katie much better. They were people who’d never envisioned children, but they’d had one and done their best. And in the end, Abby was happy and knew she was loved. Mum and Dad always said that was what was the most important thing.

            Having a year apart from Abby while she finished school was difficult for James, but he pulled through. Always one to keep himself busy, he divided his time between volunteering at the women’s shelter and doing an apprenticeship at the Apothecary. He was the only one in his immediate family who genuinely enjoyed Potions, and it was the ingredients themselves that fascinated him. He dreamed of finding new uses, new ingredients, just as Grandmother Lily had. Just as Aunt Hermione experimented with now.

            When Abby was finished with school, James was elated. They were still close, he still loved her, she still loved him. Abby joined him at the Apothecary; her interest was in the tools of the potion trade, and they made a good team. So they were happy.

            Then Jenny threw a wrench into their lives.

            She sent him a beautiful wedding invitation, announcing her nuptials to a man James had never heard of before. Abby had, and her lips twisted.

            “He used to play for Puddle,” she explained. “He’s the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

            “Well, they’re happy,” James sighed. “Who cares, honestly?”

            But he did care. Not because Jenny was getting married to someone else, just that she was getting married at all. Something didn’t feel right about that.

            Abby turned the invitation over and growled. “She’s only invited _you,_ Jamie.”

            “Well I’m not going without you, obviously.”

            “Look, Jamie.” Abby pointed to the sentences in Jenny’s handwriting.

            _Obviously you won’t want to attend, Jamie. I can imagine seeing something you’ll never have will be painful for you. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before your girlfriend realizes that you’ll never put out and leave you. I thought I’d send you the invite anyways, for old time’s sake._

“That’s it!” Abby snapped. She knelt.

            “Abby, what are you doing?”

            “Jamie Potter, will you marry me?”

            James stared at her, positively stunned. “ _What?”_

*************

They called a family meeting. Freddie, Rita and Pierre came last, Apparating from France.

            “You’re both far too young to get married!” Mum protested. “You know we don’t care if you live together; why not wait?”

            “You can’t let some horrid monster like her decide how you live your life,” Lou pointed out. They were leaning against the wall. “Get married, don’t get married, but don’t just do it because of her.”

            “We do love each other,” Jamie replied. “And I know we’re young—”

            “Younger than your Mum and I,” Dad said. “And we got married quite young.”

            “And do you regret that, Dad?”

            “No, I don’t. I’ve never regretted that. What I do regret is thinking that marrying her was the best way to make our relationship permanent. That it was the ultimate way to show her I love her.”

            “When really it was growing your beard.” Mum smiled and kissed him.

            “Our grandparents got married young. All four sets.”

           “That was almost forty years ago! And it was the middle of a war! Things are better now.”

           “It’s more than that.” Abby was wringing her hands. “There’s another reason.”

           “If you’re pregnant, you can still live together,” Aunt Audrey soothed.

           “She can’t be _pregnant by accident_ , I’m asexual!” James snapped.

           “Right. Sorry.”

           “Jamie, I didn’t just ask because of Jenny,” Abby said. “I asked because…because you do anything for what you’re passionate about. You rush in, you commit, you have mad schedules that don’t make sense to other people. I didn’t understand that when it was other people’s passions. But you…I am passionately in love with you, with our life together. And I’m ready to be married _now_ , even tonight. I know I’ll always be with you. I want to do this. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Really.”

          James kissed her, because he couldn’t speak. When he did find his voice (and his breath), he added, “and, you know, if we’re both ready and it pisses off Jenny…why not?”

          Mum and Dad looked at each other. So did Oliver and Katie.

         “If that’s what you want, we’re with you all the way,” Mum said. “Just not tonight?”

         “Of course not! I need to find a dress!”

         The wedding took place two months later, just enough time for Abby to find the perfect dress (and for Rita to recreate it with dozens more sparkles and in bright blue), and for James to secure the purchase of the Apothecary. The owners were retiring, and some of the money that James’ ancestor had made inventing Sleekeasy went into buying the shop.

        “We’ve got money of our own, son,” Dad said when he finished signing the papers. “Besides, I quite like investing in businesses. Just promise me you’ll keep Mum and I supplied with Pepper-Up Potion?”

         James hugged him as hard as he could to reply.

        There were some delays the day of the wedding; the first wedding in the family since Teddy and Victoire. Estelle insisted on having a dress that looked like Aunty Abby’s, the peacock Draco Malfoy sent for a wedding gift escaped and the cake Grandma Weasley had worked on so hard got dropped. But magic solved one problem, a careful broomstick search solved another, and Uncle Ron displayed grace under pressure and whipped up a second cake.

        It was twilight when James and Abby walked through the fields of the Burrow together, hand in hand. Aunt Luna had released some twinklers, glowing birds from South Asia, and they darted around the two of them. Jamie pulled nervously at his shirt collar.

       “Abby, are you sure?”

       “I’m _sure_ , Jamie. _Really_ sure. Are you?”

_"Yes.”_

       Those were the really important words, the most important vow. But they dutifully spoke the true ones a few moments later with their family watching. Abby had to hold Estelle, who was inconsolable without her aunt, but when James swept Abby into his arms and kissed her forehead, the little girl was quiet at last.

       James and Abby went for a week to go adventuring, and found it in a Muggle rock climbing place. Abby was delighted with the sport, and when they came back she joined a club. James went with her once in a while, but he didn’t mind her being gone; it was good that she had friends, and it gave him some time to read through Muggle romance stories (which were _fascinating_ to read, even the rubbish ones. Perhaps especially the rubbish ones).

      One day, though, he asked her to stop.

     “Are you lonely?” Abby asked immediately.

     “No. I just…” James took her hands. “I was wondering, actually, if you would like to have a baby? I’m happy to have one with you, but if we’re trying to be pregnant then you’ll have to stop. Is that okay?”

    “Are you sure?” Abby asked. “ _Sure,_ sure?”

     “Completely. And I do know how to make sure you feel good, so don’t worry—”

    Abby kissed him. “Let’s make a baby, Mr. Potter. I’m _excited_ to have your baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got to say, this is one of my favourite little love stories. For those of you curious about the dress, never fear. I will be making 'aesthetics' soon and posting them on my tumblr (illuminating-dragons), and Abby's dress will be included in her aesthetic.   
> And yes, they have a pet peacock. I need name suggestions.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	6. Partners (Lou Delacour/Bert Joseph)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lou has their passions, but they really only have one love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that Lou is gender-neutral, and uses they-them.   
> Mild sexual content.

Lou had the highest sex drive of anyone they knew.

            Seriously; five times a week wasn’t quite enough for them, but that was about as often as they could find willing partners. They made do other nights; self-love was important, and it was sometimes better after a disappointing lay.

            So Lou thought a lot about sex. Almost as much as photography; if it were more, they’d have to change professions.

            But photography was their real passion, mental, physical and emotional. They were happiest with a camera in their hand, happiest walking a shoot, looking for the perfect angles.

            Several of Lou’s competitors were confused by their approach. Other photographers would do everything, including massive (and slightly illegal) spells to control the circumstances of a shoot. Clothing, weather, landscape, lighting…some photographers even changed people’s physical appearance.

            Dennis Creevey, who’d taught Lou from the age of twelve, was definite on that subject. “You’re already creating an image of reality. Don’t alter reality for a perfect image.”

            Now, Dennis approached that in a different way. His photography was mostly of places—graveyards, gardens, houses and towers. He could go somewhere else if the weather was bad, and he avoided human subjects (“that was my brother’s work”).

            Lou, on the other hand, scheduled shoots in all weather, in all kinds of places, with whoever was willing to work under those conditions. They provided shelter between shoots while they walked around and made a call, and there was always refreshments. Lou provided the food—either fruit salads or hot buns—and Bert provided the drinks—his secret recipe lemonade or his secret recipe hot chocolate. There were always requests for seconds.

            The results were pictures that were blurry with rain, subjects dripping with sweat, flat lighting and one whole suite that was off-focus due to a busted camera.

            And people seemed to love it.

            Lou was glad people enjoyed their work, because it paid the bills and kept them in cameras and hot buns. But even if everyone hated it, they would keep doing pictures the same way. It was all they knew how to do, and they were after photos that made sense, that were _real_.

            Lou hadn’t always been so confident. Their first portfolio sat in a drawer in their childhood bedroom for six months, six months after they had to move home because they were out of money, and they wondered rather bleakly whether they ought to try working with Maman as a doula after all.

            But then when they were eighteen and a half, they met Bert in Diagon Alley, and that changed everything.

            Lou didn’t have to explain anything with Bert. Bert did all the talking. He was older than Lou by about six years, but in many ways he was childlike; innocent as he talked about his life. He worked in magical housekeeping (a growing market as house elves started to fall out of fashion). He wasn’t held in much respect, but he didn’t care. He had fun while he worked, and that was all that mattered.

            He saw Lou’s work and loved it, gazing through the portfolio and commenting on each picture, grasping the meaning Lou had tried so hard to capture. Bert _understood_ , and that meant everything. And it was Bert who suggested the road shows.

            Uncle George and Uncle Ron were happy to offer the space in front of their shop, and people stopped and looked and asked questions. Some questions were easy, some questions were hard, but Lou answered all that they could. When they couldn’t, it was actually Bert who answered.

            When Lou asked him how he knew so much, Bert showed him his own passion; mixing drinks. “I don’t like to cook, and I don’t like to bake; everything gets hidden there. But when you’re looking through glass, you can see how the ingredients come together, and how people mix the same drinks in different ways. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. And when I look at your pictures, I see what you’re seeing. It’s easy.”

            Of course it wasn’t that simple, but it wasn’t that Bert was lying. He just didn’t understand how his Sight worked. Most wizards (and Muggles) didn’t notice that kind of Sight. Bert couldn’t see the past, he couldn’t predict the future, but he could see the small parts of themselves people put into their acts of creation. No matter how small, how insignificant, he could see it. Bert never found that out, because no one bothered to explain, but it wouldn’t have mattered to him. He didn’t need to know why it worked; it just did.

            After the show it was easier to find clients and money, and soon enough Lou and Bert opened their photography studio. Well, it was a studio upstairs; the building had stood empty since Florean Fortescue’s disappearance, and it was only on the condition that they start an ice cream business as well that they bought the building from Florean’s grieving daughter Jill. Bert promised, and kept it ‘Florean’s’. He and Lou started getting clients left and right; some would come for ice cream and stay for photos, or pick up a sundae after a shoot. They were busy, beautifully busy, and Lou could shoot whatever they wanted.

            (They were also responsible for the Family picture every year, which was an amusing exercise in how many words they could make out of all the sweaters. The best times were when new people joined the family, opening new anagram possibilities).

Two years later, when Aurors came to inform them that they’d found Florean’s body at last, Bert went with Jill to identify his wand. Jill worked in the ice cream business after that, and she and Bert spent long hours coming up with new recipes, new ways of presenting ice cream and other cold delights. She and Bert eventually married, and Lou took pictures at their children’s births (which were not shared publicly). They ended up with seven kids, a set of quadruplets and a set of triplets.

            But before Jill (and even after Jill), when Lou wanted to indulge their sex drive and invite lovers over, there was always hesitation. “What about Bert?” was the common refrain.

            “What about him?” Lou would always ask.

            Sometimes people would accuse them of being callous, but Lou didn’t mind that. Explaining that his partner was his friend and they’d never slept together (nor did Bert want to) was easy.

            It was when people would say, “oh, you’re just friends?” that Lou would get angry.

            Because Bert was the first person to understand Lou without explanation. It was Bert who worked so hard to make sure others understood Lou. It was Bert who still cheerfully helped out with shoots at all hours of the day (Lou tried for after ice-cream hours but Jill just hired a phalanx of teenagers and told them to skive off ALREADY). It was Bert who still let Lou have comfortable silences and company and beautifully mixed drinks (sometimes alcoholic, sometimes not) and a _home_ of their own.

`           If people saw friendship as inferior to romantic love, Lou just thought they were wrong. But if some hot person they wanted to fuck believed that about _Bert_ , about the love of their fucking life, well then. There were plenty of hot people they could fuck.

            There was only one Bert.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes I diiiiiiiid quote Love Actually. I love that movie, and I love that line.   
> Now, here's a bit of news: I'm going to take a brief break from weekly updates. I'm running low on my backlog, and I'm working on some longer stories (for this verse and other projects), and that's making it a bit tricky to keep up with weekly updates. I'll resume posting on October 11th, which will give me some time to wrap up some projects. Also, I'm happy to take prompts, either email me or message me on tumblr (both in my profile).   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	7. Fearless Love (Molly Weasley II/Fiona Tremblay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly Weasley is trying to be the best Prefect possible. But one night on the roof of Hogwarts, she has to face a greater challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussion of suicidal thoughts, and frank conversation about death. This one is more melancholy than the others, just as a heads up.

Molly had gotten over most of her fears as she aged. She still didn’t like spiders, and alligators were out of the question, but she had embraced them, faced them, whatever she needed to do.

            In her fifth year, she was a Prefect and the Seeker for Gryffindor. Molly loved both roles, taking care of the young ones and encouraging them to learn what bravery meant to them, and trying her best to catch the Snitch before the other team. She wasn’t a fantastic Seeker, but it didn’t really matter. Ever since the ferocity of Quidditch had been replaced by a more amicable state of affairs, it was more about cool moves and dramatic gameplay than about actual score.  So she played and had fun and worried about school as little as possible.

            This horrified her classmates.

            “We have to take OWLs!” Was the common refrain. “They determine your whole future!”

            Molly shrugged it off at first. She just wasn’t fussed. School was something she had to do and get through, but some of her cousins had left before their NEWTS, and she was considering doing the same. But she hadn’t made up her mind, so she did her assignments and didn’t skive off (well, didn’t skive off _too_ often), and kept her options open.

            That gave Molly plenty of time to help her year-mates. She coaxed some into the library and some out; she traded patrol shifts with the other fifth-years willingly (so long as she could still make Quidditch practices). She argued with professors about assignment deadlines, wrote scathing letters to parents who were putting too much pressure on their children, and even marched a few to the Hospital Wing. Madam Hannah could do more for those cases than she could, and Molly worried about those ones. The ones who looked vacant and thin, ones with strange bandages, and those who spent too much time outside at night.

            It wasn’t the ones she found in the Forest blowing off steam that scared her. It was the ones who wandered around the high battlements.

            One of the nights she patrolled up there, Molly found Fiona.

            Fiona Tremblay was pale as a ghost; well, pale as a banshee. She had banshee blood in her from several generations back, but it was enough that no one wanted to hear her arguing with the professors. Her chair was sat in a beam of moonlight, and she was looking straight up at the stars. Molly was definitely afraid now. There was power in the air she didn’t recognize, nothing she’d ever known. But she was a prefect, and it was her responsibility to protect the students, even if Fiona was in Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor.

            “Fiona?” Molly asked.

            Fiona looked up at her and screamed. “No, NO!”

            Molly stumbled back. “It’s alright, Fiona, I’m…I’ll go, but do you want me to get—”

            “ _I will be the death of you.”_

            “What?”

            Fiona was trembling, her gray eyes overflowing with tears. “I’m so sorry. I tried to hide, but it’s done now. I will be the death of you.”

            Molly had her wand out. “You don’t have to do this, Fiona.”

            “It won’t happen tonight,” Fiona said. She’d turned her chair around, wheeling it closer to Molly. It floated so they were at eye level. “I won’t do anything to hurt you if I can help it Molly, but you’ve seen a banshee. I’m your death.”

            Molly let a shudder run through her. “Are you banshee enough for that?”

            “Yes. Yes I am.”

            And Molly didn’t doubt her.

            “Alright then,” she said shakily. “Then you’re my death. Suppose I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

            “What?” Fiona stared at her in shock. “Don’t you hate me?”

            “Why would I? Everyone dies eventually, and this way I know you’re involved. Do you hate me, Fiona?”

            “I don’t know you,” Fiona said. Her hands clenched upon withered knees. “I don’t want this fate for you.”

            “I don’t know if I believe in fate,” Molly replied. She reached forward and took the other girl’s hand. “But if it’s real, then I will learn to face it. Will it be soon?”

            “I am not banshee enough to know,” Fiona replied. “It was foretold my harbinger day would be today, but not when your death would come to pass. My mother’s harbinger day was twenty years ago, and the man is still alive.”

            “So I might have twenty years!” Molly said, relieved. “Well, that’s loads of time.”

            “It could be twenty days.” Fiona took her hand out of  Molly’s. “It could be twenty hours.”

            “As it would be even if I didn’t know,” Molly answered. “C’mon, it’s kind of cold out here.”

            She turned and walked back towards the door. After a second, she stopped, because Fiona wasn’t following her.

            “Fee? C’mon.”

            “I don’t want to kill you,” Fiona whispered.

            Molly paused for a moment. “My cousin Teddy was the death of his father,” she said at last. “He was only a few weeks old. But his father wanted him to have a better life, so he went off to fight and die in the Battle of Hogwarts. You can be the death of someone without hurting them at all. You may not have to kill me. But I forgive you now, if that is what you need.”

             Fiona followed her then, and Molly took her back to the Ravenclaw Dormitory.

*********

            Molly never told her parents about the harbinger. They would worry and grieve something that might not come to pass for years. Instead, she told them about her new friend Fiona, and how they’d both passed their OWLs with flying colours. And the next year, she wrote to them about her girlfriend, and left out all the pleading and fighting and discussions at midnight on the tower. Fiona didn’t understand why Molly loved her, no matter what Molly said. But after a lot of coaxing and pleading on Molly’s part, Fiona gave in to her own feelings.

            And Percy and Audrey were delighted that Molly had found someone who she loved so much, and loved her back.

            They never knew their oldest daughter had faced her own mortality at the age of fifteen, and had the courage to love her death-bringer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaack!   
> I also made up banshee lore a bit, though I excuse my fudging with Fee's diluted blood. Also, yes, Fiona is in the equivalent of a Wizarding wheel chair; I have plans to discuss that fully another time.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	8. Finding Friendship (Rose Granger-Weasley & June Quince, Rose Granger-Weasley/Carol Quince)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose has a lovely large family. Which is a good thing, because she has a lot of trouble making friends.

All the Weasley kids had their favourite aunts or uncles. Well, favourite was a strong word. Each had an adult they looked up to just a _bit_ more than the others, one they wanted to spend time with no matter what. Roxanne’s favourite was her Uncle Percy. Molly’s was Aunt Ginny. Freddie had a great time with Uncle Ron.

            And Rose’s favourite was Uncle Harry.

            Maybe it was because they both loved to do puzzles. Even Aunt Ginny didn’t totally understand the puzzles, but Rosie would spend hours just doing puzzles with Uncle Harry. They often had to be dragged away from their latest project at family gatherings, and Uncle Harry always gave Rosie a new puzzle for her birthday and Christmas. They got progressively harder as she got older; for her sixteenth birthday he gave her a solid black 3-D puzzle.

            Mum joked that they might as well be related by blood, because they were a lot alike. Rose didn’t quite see it; they both loved puzzles, sure, but she was a Chaser, not a Seeker. She had her Dad’s red hair and excellent vision, she was in Ravenclaw…

            And she wasn’t able to love properly.

            She wasn’t quite like James; he was asexual and that made sense to Rose, he just loved Abby. He was _in love_ with her, that is. It wasn’t like they were friends.

            Rose couldn’t have friends.

            Oh, she had her cousins and Scorpius, but Scorpius was _practically_ family, and he was Al’s anyways, anyone could see that. But Rose had always had trouble making friends. She tried at first when she was younger; she would be kind and polite and supportive, just what you were supposed to do. But it never worked. Maybe she gave off some sort of barrier, something dangerous. A lot of people told her frankly that she terrified them.

            It hurt her when she was little, but when she told Dad he explained that powerful girls were their own kind of scary, and if people couldn’t be brave enough to deal with that, then they weren’t worth talking to. Soon she started to enjoy it just a little bit, and of course she used her power for good. Mostly. Sometimes scaring the teachers was fun.

            But there were some who were brave enough. There was Ty, and Heather, and Mark. They were friends, for a while. But then Rose fucked it up.

            Because she fell in love with them.

            Ty was her first love. Well of course, it wasn’t love because they were far too young for love at twelve. But after two weeks of doing a group project together Rose was besotted with him. She gathered all her courage and asked him to go for a walk with her outside the castle.

            Ty was very nice about it, but he told her that he didn’t like girls. Rose was a little sad, but of course that’s just how it was. They shook hands and promised to stay friends.

            And that lasted exactly two weeks, until Rose hexed him silly when she saw him snogging Elia Kent.

            Rose retreated from friends for a while, but she loved to teach people, and she helped run a small tutorial group. And when she was fourteen, there was a girl who came to every single session, and she didn’t really need to. In fact, Heather Malley was brilliant, and she started to help Rose with the tutoring. Rose felt her heart skip a beat every time that Heather was near, which wasn’t attraction, but by this time James was out and Rose understood that maybe she didn’t have to feel attraction to be in love. And Heather had asked her for a private study date a few times…and kissing Heather would be nice…

            But then Heather brought her girlfriend to the next group study, and introduced Rose as her ‘brilliant friend’, and Rose’s heart broke.

            She stopped having private studies with Heather and told herself it was to make sure that Heather’s girlfriend didn’t get jealous. She was calm and helpful when Heather cried to her after they broke up eight months later, she didn’t suggest anything, she didn’t get hopeful. Eventually Heather found another girlfriend, then another, and they drifted apart.

            Rose’s last attempt at making friends with someone was the worst. In hindsight, it was a terrible decision to try with Mark Winter. He lived up to his last name with his icy tongue (some of the older teachers remembered a Slytherin professor with similar bite), and he’d had several bad relationships. But Rose just wanted to be _friends_ , and he was interesting and clever and he loved Quidditch too…

            Once again, she started to daydream about maybe having a life with him. Because Mark was pretty and he listened to her in a way that even Albus and Scorpius didn’t, and they could do research together about Quidditch! And sex with him, well, that could work. Might even be pleasant.  

            So for the first time since she was twelve, she told someone that she cared about them romantically.

            And Mark lost it. He went on for a full ten minutes ranting about how girls were all the same, they pretended to be your friend but all they wanted was to let your defences down. All they fucking wanted was sex with feelings!

            “I didn’t mean to!” Rose protested. “I didn’t want to care for you this way! We can still be friends—”

            But Mark didn’t believe her. “Then that’s worse! That’s even more low down, you frigid bitch!”

            Years and years later, after Mark had screamed out his anger and pain to one too many people and gotten some professional help, he apologized. He apologized for not understanding, for being cruel, for being so defensive he’d gone on the offensive.

            And he apologized for yelling about it in the Great Hall. Rose had asked him out on the steps of the castle, but he’d all but dragged her into the Great Hall and screamed it there.

            Rose forgave him years later. At that point, she just burst into tears and ran.

            She ran all the way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and just like she hoped, Uncle Harry had gotten there first.

            “Oh sweetheart, it’s going to be alright.”

            Rose sobbed on his shoulder for close to an hour. She’d probably missed dinner, but she didn’t care.

            “What the fuck is wrong with me?” she gasped.

            “What do you think is wrong with you?” Uncle Harry asked, concerned.

            So Rose told him. Told him all the lonely years of wishing for friendship outside of her family, and of her failures every time to avoid romantic feelings. Uncle Harry rubbed her back and hummed quietly; that’s what he always did when he was listening carefully.

            When she’d run out of words, Uncle Harry helped her to her feet. “C’mon, Rosie, let’s do a puzzle.”

            It was an easy puzzle; it had four different colours, and only 2,000 pieces. But Rosie obeyed, falling into their familiar pattern. She would sort the middle pieces, and give him the edges.

            “Rosie, you know how James is asexual?”

            “I’m not asexual,” Rosie said immediately. “I’m feeling some attraction.”

            Uncle Harry nodded. “Okay, but what about demisexual?”

            “Which one is that?”

            “It’s what I am, actually.”

            Rosie stared at him. “What does it mean?”

            “Most of the time, you don’t feel attracted to people. You have to build an emotional connection to someone, something really meaningful, and then you develop attraction. So no love at first sight, essentially.”

            “Oh. I think that does make sense.” Rose tucked that word away; it was very useful indeed. “Is that why I keep falling in love with all of my friends?”

            “All of them?” Uncle Harry looked slightly alarmed, and it took a moment for Rose to understand why.

            “Oh, _gross_ , Uncle Harry. I don’t like _my family_ like that. And yes, Scorpius counts as family.”

            Uncle Harry laughed. “Well that’s grand.” He started to put some pieces together in a border. “And that’s interesting, too. I think I sort of had the opposite.”

            “Really?”

            “I’d never really—well. Your dad was my first real friend, and then your mum. We were so close for a long time, and I just got sort of adopted by the Weasleys in general.”

            “We do that a lot, don’t we?”

            Uncle Harry snapped the last corner piece into place. “Pass me the purple, please. And yes, once someone has a sweater, they’re family. But Rosie…it took a long time for me to fall in love with your Aunt Ginny. I’d known her almost as long as your Uncle Ron, but I didn’t have a deep enough connection with her to be in love with her.”

            “Aunt Ginny told me she couldn’t talk to you for the first couple of years.”

            Uncle Harry smiled. “Well, that got reversed my sixth year quite significantly. And then we did get together, and I was so bloody happy and angry at the same time. I loved her at last, and we were together, but we had so little time, and everything was so dangerous. If I’d understood earlier, maybe we could have had more moments. Maybe neither of us would have been lonely.”

            “That doesn’t sound right, Uncle Harry. It wasn’t your fault.”

            “You’re right, it wasn’t. And I understand it now. We can’t control how we love sometimes. I cared deeply for Ginny before I was in love with her, and that was how I felt at the time. That’s how I loved her then. But it worked out in the end, and it will for you too.”

            “But I’m different than you. How will I know when I’ve changed?”  

            “Well, I think you’ll know when you feel like someone’s family; the way you feel about Scorpius for example, because he isn’t blood-related and you could have had a crush on him.”

“I would never do that to Al!” Rosie cried, outraged.

“Yes, but you couldn’t have controlled that. And here’s the thing, Rosie—and I know that you’re going to hate this—but you might genuinely be too young.” He shook his head at Rosie’s groan. “I know, I know, but it does take time to understand what kinds of intimacy you need, and from whom. You’ve got your family sorted, and that’s wonderful, but getting friend and love mixed up…it seems to be a side-effect of being the way we are.”

            “So what do I do to fix it?” Rosie asked.

            “Oh darling, I don’t think it’s something to be fixed. You’re not broken. All you can do is keep learning, keep loving, and remember that you deserve to be loved in all the ways you want to love. As a daughter, a sister, a niece, a friend, and a lover. Alright?”

            “Okay.”

            “One day you’ll believe it, Rose. I know you will.”

*******

            Rose made it through the rest of that year, and then the next, and drifted to the Ministry. She wanted to work with her Grandad, and anyways, Lucy was talking about (well, shouting) about making some big changes to how wizards and Muggles interacted, and she wanted to be part of that on the government end.

            She had to wait for that, of course, but there was still plenty to do. Grandad was working on a new proposal to include magic in Muggle transportation (well, a new _draft_ , it was the seventeenth one he’d submitted), and Rose did research and ran some focus groups with Muggleborns, trying to figure out which…adjustments were the least noticeable. June helped her with that.

            June Quince was Grandad’s assistant, and she was only thirty eight but didn’t really look it. Her hair was pure white, and she walked with a cane. “I was an Auror,” she explained. “And I got hit with a fun Aging curse that’s not quite worn off.”

            At first Rose didn’t talk with June much. They were at different points in their lives—June had been married twice already, and had adopted her teenage goddaughter last year—and they didn’t have much in common. June loved old Muggle music and played Gobstones, and Rose liked the Weird Sisters and preferred chess.

            But one day Grandad repossessed some cursed puzzles, and after breaking the simple curse (you weren’t able to stop until you’d put all 4,000 pieces together), Rose started putting it together on break.

            “Can I join you?” June asked.

            And suddenly over the Parisian puzzle, they started finding ways of connecting to each other. They both loved strong coffee—the stronger, the better—and when Rose realized that June loved Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, they started plotting. The pranks were different than when she’d planned with Scorp and Al, more tame and more about doing sneaky funny things for people. And June finally convinced Mum that Rose was old enough to drink wine, and she brought Rose to her wine club, which was comprised of people of all ages who enjoyed drinking both good wine and bad wine, depending on the day.  

            And that’s where Rose met Mo, who liked Bordeaux as much as she did; Crista, who’d been in Ravenclaw and loved to talk about history; and Raylene, June’s goddaughter. Raylene loved all things Muggle and she knew Lucy, so the three of them started working with Grandad to prepare for the real possibility of technology introduction into the wizarding world.

            And Rose was so excited by all of this talking and plans and really excellent (and excellently terrible) wine that she was genuinely surprised to discover that she wasn’t in love with any of them. But she loved the wine club, she loved them _dearly_ (as Abby would say), and she actually cried when she and Dad ran into Mo in Diagon Alley, and he said “your daughter’s my best friend.”

            When Rose was twenty-five, right in the busy swirl of Lucy’s work, she came to wine club twenty minutes late to find a new member there. Carol was bright and funny and loved almost all the wines Rose did, and they had an amicable argument about the others that night. The next day Rose invited Carol over to try a new wine, and that weekend Carol asked Rose out on a date.

            And to Rose’s utter delight, she wanted to go. _Carol wanted her not as a friend and she wanted Carol not as a friend, she’d done it._  

            When she met Carol at Florean’s, June was there too. Her hair was still white, but the curse was starting to fade and she no longer needed her cane.

            And Rose was terrified, because oh _god,_ what if Carol hadn’t meant a ‘romantic date’?

            But June waved and kissed Carol’s cheek. “Bye dear, have fun!”

            Rose sat down cautiously once she’d left. “I didn’t realize you were such good friends with June.”

            “Friends?” Carol looked confused. “June’s my cousin. I’m Carol Quince. Oh right, you were late!”

            Rose laughed until she started to cry.

            Lou, of course, came over. “The hell are you doing to my cousin, lady?”

            “Nothing, Lou.” Rose wiped her eyes. “It’s just—of course that’s how it worked out.” And she looked up into Carol’s lovely, _lovely_ face, and beamed.

            “You alright, Rose?” Carol asked.

            “I think I really like you,” Rose replied. “And I want to talk with you until I love you.”

            Carol took her hand. “I think that sounds brilliant. Lou, could we have your strongest coffee ice cream?”

           

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's quite personal for me. Now obviously there are many experiences of demisexuality, and Rose and Harry are not the only two that can happen, but I'm familiar with Rosie's, though not to that extreme.   
> Also, I thought I'd let you know now, but we're getting into the realm of sequel-time. That's right, I'm writing a whole story with plot and everything. It's in very (VERY) early stages, but it's a thing. It's going to happen. But there are certain...events, shall we say? That happen after the time of the sequel, so forgive me if things start to get a bit fuzzy.   
> Like the Scorbus wedding? After the sequel.   
> I'll post something on my tumblr in the next couple of days talking about all of my WIPs in detail, and how they'll be released/worked on.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	9. A Worthwhile Fight (Albus Potter/Scorpius Malfoy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus and Scorpius take an interesting path to love, and their fathers are there to reflect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter some of you have been waiting for!  
> No there's no wedding, not yet.

When Draco dropped Scorpius off for his first play-date with Al, he was worried. Al was a tiny bit older and quite a bit bigger than Scorp, but he needn’t have worried. Albus took Scorpius by the hand and they went to the playroom to use some of Albus’ dragons. Draco watched as his son walked away without so much as a goodbye, and felt quite sad.

            Then Scorpius came running back and hugged his legs and asked if he could stay and play.

            And that’s how Draco ended up setting up an elaborate menagerie for his son and Harry’s, while Harry played the fearsome ogre, who was defeated by two over-excited four year olds.

            Eventually Draco didn’t have to stay, and sometimes Al would come over dragging a stuffed dragon and a blanket. Scorp liked Jamie well enough, and he was fascinated by little Lily, but Al was the only one who came over alone. And he was always polite to him and Astoria, and one day when he was eight Albus told Draco sternly that he was a brilliant dad, so he was a good man, and he shouldn’t listen to stupid people.

            He said this with a black eye, and as Draco applied some bruise salve he wondered at a world where Harry Potter’s son would fight for him.

*********

            When Scorpius got used to the crazy world of Hogwarts (which was slightly more mental than the Burrow at Midsummer, but fairly close), he started to miss when it was just him and Al. Rose Weasley was cool, and she had great ideas, but now Al wanted to do everything with her. And that was fair, they were friends, and she was Al’s cousin, and he wasn’t _jealous_ …

            Or…or was he? Was he really jealous of someone who was literally related to Albus by blood? He couldn’t be, that was stupid.

            But maybe he was envious. Maybe he wanted what Rose had (which she deserved): any of Al’s attention. He wanted Al to talk to him alone too, but he wasn’t Al’s cousin. He wasn’t Al’s family.

            Which is why he was surprised, Christmas of first year, when he and Mum and Dad went to the Weasley’s for a Christmas party, and Al’s grandma gave him a package.

            “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he said, confused. Then he opened it, and saw a blue knitted sweater and a big, Snitch-gold ‘S’.

            He turned, trying to figure out how to thank her, and saw that Dad was on his knees in front of Mrs. Weasley, tears streaming down his face, a green sweater in his hands.

            That night Scorpius stood with Al and Rose and smiled for a picture with…well, with his family. Al held his hand and held Rose’s, and Scorp was delighted.

            And that was all very well for two years. He and Rose and Al were thick as thieves for two years, and they got into detention and got plenty of Howlers and did brilliant projects. And Scorpius played Quidditch with Rose, and Albus was in charge of cheering, and they were family and friends and it was really all Scorpius wanted.

            And then it all broke apart one January morning, because Scorpius woke up after Al for once and watched him sleepily pad around the dorm with his shirt off and though _OH NO HELP._

Because how, _how_ could he possibly be in love with Al? No no _no,_ that would ruin everything! He’d been so happy as Al’s family, and Al had put him in his family tree project in History of Magic, and how could Al ever see him as…well, maybe a boyfriend?

            Wasn’t that incest?

            In desperation, he went and asked Rose, and Rose laughed her head off.

            “Don’t be mean!” Scorpius wailed. “What if something’s fucked up in me?”

            That stopped Rose short. “You’re not fucked up, Scorp. Else I am.”

            “Are you in love with him—”

            “Don’t finish that sentence,” Rose warned. “Or I’ll puke. But I fall in love with all my friends except you and Al, and that’s strange too. I don’t think you’ve ever seen Al as a brother or cousin or anything, have you?”

            “Well, no,” Scorpius mumbled. “You’re like my sister but Al’s just…Al’s just important.”

            “So you felt like he was important to you,” Rose prompted. “And you were friends, and now that’s developed. That’s normal.”

            Scorpius put his head in his hands.

            “I just saved you from thinking you’re incestuous!” Rose snapped. “Why are you still upset?”

            “That means I might be in love with him, Rosie.”

            “Er…fair point.”

*********

            It was finally time for the March Hogsmeade outing. Albus was jubilant; no detention this time, and he knew just who he was going to ask. He was confident, because really, he was fairly certain about his intended’s feelings, and he reciprocated and it was really grand.

            He probably shouldn’t have asked Scorpius right after Herbology though. Right in front of their entire class.

            In his defense, he was very, very sure that Scorp liked him back. He was not at all expecting Scorpius to start shouting.

            “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN GO TO HOGSMEADE WITH YOU WE ALL WENT LAST TIME!”

            “I KNOW!” Albus went along with it in his surprise. “BUT I WANT TO GO WITH YOU, JUST YOU, OKAY?”

            “ARE YOU ANGRY AT ROSE?”

            “NO! BUT I WANT TO GO ON A DATE WITH YOU!”

            “REALLY?”

            “YES. WILL YOU COME?”

            “ABSOLUTELY!”

            “GREAT. WHY ARE WE YELLING?”

            “BECAUSE I YELL WHEN I DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!”

            Albus stepped forward, mindful of the crowd all of a sudden. He pulled Scorp into a hug and kissed his cheek. “I want to go on a date with you Scorp, okay? I like you. I thought you might like me too.”

            “You knew?” Scorp blushed and buried his face against Albus’ shoulder.

            “Were you trying to keep it a secret?” Albus smiled as Scorpius tried to burrow closer. “I don’t mind, love. I was really happy. I think we figured it out at the same time. It was after that last Quidditch game, right?”

            “FOR MERLIN’S SAKE POTTER, IT WAS IN SEPTEMBER!” That was Rose, and Albus scowled at his cousin.

            Then…

            “Oh. Sorry, Scorp. Guess I was a bit slow. That’s on me though, you’re brilliant and I—”

            Scorp shut him up by kissing him.

********

            Harry looked up from the paper when the doorbell rang. “We expecting anyone, Ginny?”

            “Al’s not due back until tomorrow,” Ginny frowned. Their twenty-year-old son had been travelling with Scorpius, looking for plants. Neville couldn’t leave the school anymore as Headmaster, so he sent the Herbology Professor and his geographer boyfriend (and the boyfriend’s ferret) out for new plants each summer.

            But the doorbell rang twice close together, which was Al’s signature ring, and Harry got up. “Son?” he asked. Al was indeed standing on the doorstep, trying to smile. But his eyes were red-rimmed and he was trembling, his hands behind his back.

            “Al? What happened?” Harry stared as Albus looked away from him. “Al?”

            “Scorpius isn’t my boyfriend anymore,” Al said, voice catching on a sob.

            “Oh no,” Ginny whispered. She’d joined them at the door. “Is that why you came home early?”

            Albus nodded, then met their eyes again as he slowly raised his left hand to see a gold band with a sapphire dragon’s head. “He’s my fiancé,” he said, voice breaking into a laugh.

            “That’s wonderful!” Harry said, his own voice breaking as he sagged with relief. He heard a soft chitter from the street as Ginny embraced Albus. “Oi so there you are, Scorpius! Come on up, now! You both nearly gave me a damn heart attack.

            Scorpius stepped out of the shadows, Mad-Eye firmly around his neck. “Sorry, Harry and Ginny. But I thought it might be funny.”

            Harry rolled his eyes and hugged his future son-in-law. “Well done, both of you,” he said gruffly. “I’m very pleased, Scorp, we both are.”

            Scorpius leaned against him for a moment, and Harry was struck in that moment by how similar Scorp really was to his father.

            When they were all inside, Ginny got down to business. “Right, are you getting married right away?”

            “No,” Scorp and Al said at once.

            “We don’t need to be like James,” Al explained. “Not that he did anything wrong, but we just…we want to wait. And we want a fancy wedding, so we need to save for that.”

            “I think your parents might be able to help with that,” Harry said. Draco and Astoria were more than well-off now, thanks to Astoria’s success with architecture.

            “Yeah, but we…we want to do it on our own, Harry.” Scorp held Al’s hand. “Besides, I’ve got nothing against long engagements, I just really, really wanted to ask Al to marry me. It felt right.”

            Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “I think that’s lovely. Well, alright. When are you thinking?”

            “If I get my map of Brazil finished this summer, I’ve got a shot at getting a mapping contract from the Ministry. That’ll give me more regular money, and Scorp has his professorship, so…maybe two years? Three?”

            “Alright. If you two change your minds and want to do it earlier, we can help you out with money.”

            “We’re not in a rush, Mum.” Albus snuggled against Scorpius. “Marriage…it’s grand, and it’s grand that we can have it, but we have the rest of our lives.”

            Harry smiled. “You do.” And they would, because their families had fought for a world where his son could grow up and marry a Malfoy whenever he wanted (and whenever Scorp wanted, of course). 

            Looking back on all the work and pain to get to this point, it was worth it.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't wanna hear any yowling about the lack of wedding. It's COMING. It'll be worth it (very ostentatious--points for people who can guess why).  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	10. Muggles, Magic, and Manchester (Lucy Weasley/Iris Dursley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy Weasley is ready to start at university at last! And her new roommate is...someone she wasn't expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly recommend you reading 'Sortings' (Chapter 6 of Fading Scars). You're gonna need some background on Lucy and Jacob. If you want to read Recreation to get the Dursley side of things, feel free :)

“Well, there you are.” Mum gave Lucy the transcripts and CVs, carefully fudged from Hogwarts records, summer extracurriculars, and references from their teachers. “You and Dev are ready to apply.”

            Lucy held the documents carefully. “What if I’m not really ready to go?”

            “I wasn’t really ready to be the Minister for Magic,” Mum said. “But Kingsley stepped down and I wanted to step up. I wanted to be ready. Do you want to be ready, Lucy?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then get going.” Mum smiled. “You’ll do great, sweetheart.”  

            Lucy spent all that Christmas break applying to Muggle universities with Dev. The two of them wanted to go the University of Manchester, to the same school as Jacob, but any school with physics and computer science would do. With every application, Lucy felt her heart sink. There was no way anyone would let her in, and even with all of Jacob’s tutoring and her distance classes (weekly trips into London to do her assignments), she wasn’t sure that she knew enough about all of this. But she wanted to learn, _needed_ to learn so badly.

            Dev was more relaxed about it, but that was all very well for him. He’d had years of Muggle schooling before Hogwarts. He had more of an understanding how Muggles worked, how they behaved.

            “How bloody long have you been friends with Jacob and I?!” Dev finally exploded. “Lucy, you’ll do more than fine, alright. Besides, you know way more about magic than either of us do. And if you’re so worried, why don’t you focus on meeting plenty of other people our first semester?”

            “Good idea.”

            “I always have good ideas,” Dev said airily. “Now pass me the application package for Oxford.”

            “You don’t even want to go there!”

            “Yeah, but I want to see if I can get in just to turn them down.”

            “You’re the meanest Hufflepuff I’ve ever met.”

            “Au contraire, Lucy. I am the pettiest Hufflepuff you’ve ever met.”

            Near the end of January, Lucy and Dev both got owls from their parents.

            “MANCHESTER!!!!” Dev shrieked, leaping onto the table. Lucy leapt onto the Gryffindor table and shrieked herself hoarse.

            “Patel, Weasley get off the tables, people eat on those!” Uncle Harry shouted. But he was grinning. “And well done to both of you!”

            Lucy nearly didn’t care about NEWTS anymore, but she had to finish strongly, or her scholarship would be in jeopardy. And she wanted to do well anyways, because she liked good grades and doing well. She and Dev studied together and talked to Jacob about Manchester and planned for September. Dev was going to focus on computer sciences, but Lucy was going in for physics and computer science, with a minor in political science.

            “You plan on sleeping, Narnia?” Jacob asked. He’d called her that since they’d read those books when they were ten.

            “I want to do everything I can to help,” Lucy snapped.

            “I know, but remember, you’ve got to find people like me, remember?”

            Right. Squibs. Descendants of Squibs. People whose magic wasn’t recognized because it had affected their brain. Lucy had heard Ariana Dumbledore’s story when she was nine, far too young to understand the true horror. Now she did, and she hoped desperately that she would be able to stop that somehow, and protect those already hurt.

            That summer was spent dizzily preparing for Muggle school, tracing family trees to find Squibs, buying Muggle clothes and arranging for roommates (well, Lucy had to) and buying textbooks. And on the day before she left, Mum and Dad put a set of car keys in Lucy’s hands.

            “You can’t Apparate as easily at that school,” Dad explained. “Go ahead, and we’ll take care of petrol. You’ve earned a scholarship for everything else, after all.”

            It was a small purple van, big enough for all of Lucy, Dev and Jacob’s things, plus another seat.

            Lucy hugged her parents fiercely, and the next day the three of them drove off early to get to the university.

            When she finally found a parking space, Lucy headed for her residence. She was looking forward to her roommate, one Talia Jackson, one of the first Squibs she’d found at Manchester. But when she got in the room, a different girl was there.

            Her roommate was half a foot shorter than her, with light brown curls and dark brown skin. She popped up from the bed and smiled. “Hallo! Is this your room too?”

            “Yeah. And you’re not Talia?”

            “No. Talia just dropped out about three days ago. Said she was joining her cousin’s vigilante group. So they moved me in instead! I’m Iris, nice to meet you.”

            “Likewise. I’m Lucy Weasley, by the way.”

            Iris’ eyes widened. “Weasley?”

            “Yes.”

            “Do a lot of people in your family have red hair?”

            Iris had _not_ been expecting that question, especially not outside the Wizarding world. “Yes, why?” Her wand was still in her pocket (force of habit), and she curled her finger around it.”

            “I think my da’s cousin is married to your aunt.”

            Her dad only had one sister. “What’s your last name?” Lucy asked, suddenly nervous.

            “Dursley. I’m Iris Dursley.”

            “Merlin’s pants.”

* * *

 

            Lucy didn’t know all of Uncle Harry’s story. Hell, she barely knew all of her own parents’ stories, and they were her _parents._ But all her family were good about answering questions, and between several carefully timed questions the kids had put together a reasonable picture of the past.

            One of those pictures were to do with the Dursleys.

            It wasn’t a nice picture, and they didn’t talk about it much, as a family; it didn’t seem fair to Uncle Harry. But Lucy knew the Dursleys had been cruel to him, though their son had eventually reconciled with Harry. Lucy even knew that Uncle Harry was in contact with his cousin, though not his aunt and uncle.

            Still, seeing Dudley Dursley’s daughter in front of her was a bit of a shock, and not a fun one.

            “How much do you know?” Lucy asked.

            Iris seemed to understand. “You’re angry, aren’t you? I figured you weren’t his daughter.”

            “Whose daughter?”

            “Cousin Harry’s. But I thought Lily was younger.”

            “She’s a year younger than me,” Lucy said. She had no idea what to say. This girl was clearly innocent, and she couldn’t be trouble if she knew Lily’s name. But something in her rankled at the name Dursley.

            “Okay.” Iris sat down. “What happened, Lucy?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Da’s tried to talk about it, and so has Cousin Harry, but neither of them really explained it fully. I know they weren’t friends, and my grandparents didn’t like him, but you’re looking at me like I might be evil.”

            “I don’t think you’re evil,” Lucy said immediately. And she _didn’t,_ she really didn’t. “But your father and your grandparents…they weren’t very kind to my uncle. So I’m just being cautious, I suppose.”

            “That’s alright. Da told me to be careful about you lot.”

            “Really? Why?”

            “He said you were all powerful, and you might hold a grudge. Which _I_ don’t think is fair! My grandparents have been perfectly lovely about Da and Dad, and they don’t care that I’m a lesbian either! What on earth would they have been angry about?”

            “They were angry because—”

            Lucy stopped. She couldn’t do it, could she? She wasn’t ten anymore, deciding to tell Jacob that she was a witch and heedless of the consequences. She was almost eighteen, old enough to go to prison, and there were still consequences to giving away information to the Muggle world.

            But Lucy didn’t want to tell the world; she wasn’t mad. She knew there were decent reasons to keep the two communities separate, and she knew that she had to go slow. But she wasn’t telling the world; she was telling Iris.

            And if the previous generation wasn’t talking, perhaps it was high time.

            Besides, she could always Obliviate the other girl.       

            “They didn’t like Uncle Harry because he’s a wizard, and his mum—your grandmother’s sister—was a witch.”

            Iris didn’t speak for a moment. “That isn’t code, right? You’re serious?”

            “Absolutely.”

            “Are you a witch too?”

            “Yes.” Iris hesitated, but she took out her wand.

            “Okay.” Iris nodded. “I suppose that makes sense.”

            “Wait—you believe me?”

            “Sure. Why not? There’s all sorts of different people in the world. One of my das was born a woman, and he actually was pregnant with me.” Iris’ eyes started to sparkle. “So magic is really real?”

            “Yes.”

            “Wicked!” Iris clasped her hands together. “Can I learn?”

            Lucy shook her head. “I’m sorry. You have to be born with magic to have it. But…well, I’m going to school to figure out how to combine magic with Muggle technology. One of my best friends is a Squib, and he and his boyfriend are helping me.”

            “What’s a Squib? What’s a Muggle?”

            “Right.” Lucy turned. “I’m going to go fetch them, and we’ll explain it all together.”

* * *

 

            It was a profoundly illegal beginning to a beautiful relationship.

            The night after Dev and Jacob and Lucy helped explain the Wizarding World to Iris, Iris called her dads with ‘Skype’. It was a lot like the mirror that Uncle Harry had made for each of his children and niblings, but it was on Iris’ computer. Lucy had never seen Dudley Dursley or his husband before, and was surprised by how…well, normal they looked.

            She was also surprised by the fact that they knew her name.

            “Hi Lucy,” Leo said. “Harry’s told us about you; you’re very interested in physics, right?”

            “And computers,” Lucy replied. She fidgeted, wondering what to say.

            “They told me about magic, Da,” Iris chimed in.

            Dudley went pale. “What? I thought that wasn’t allowed, or I would have told you.”

            “Did you tell Dad?”

            “No, Harry did when you were young. We never had that conversation with you.”

            “I mean, technically I’m not supposed to have told her either,” Lucy admitted. “But I don’t mind, and my mum is Minister of Magic, so I might be able to reason with her.”

            “Alright. Sorry, Irey, I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to get you in trouble.” Dudley wouldn’t meet Lucy’s eyes.

            “It’s alright, Da. This is so cool! My roommate’s a witch, it’s like a sitcom!”

            “You’ll probably fall in love by second year,” Leo joked.

            Lucy blushed. Then she remembered. “Oh, Leo, what’s your last name?”

            “Well, Dursley. Oh, Hall, sorry. Leo Hall.”

            “And what’s your father and mother’s name?”

            “Why do you want to know?”

            “I’m trying to track families of Squibs—people who were born in magical families but had no magic of their own. They’re allowed to know about magic, and I want to get some more voices at the table about how to integrate them back into the magical world.”

            Leo paused. “My father’s name is John Hall, and my mother’s name is Alice. And…well, I was born Rachel. Rachel Emily Hall.”

            “Okay.” Lucy thought about what to say. “Your name is Leo now, though. So if I do find a record, I’ll change it. People should be called by their real names.”

            Leo smiled. “Lucy, I’m giving you full permission to fall in love with this girl.”

* * *

 

            University was a bit different than Lucy expected. It wasn’t quite as hard as she thought—physics reminded her of Transfiguration and Charms, and computers were _amazing_. She blew through a lot of classes, and at night she, Dev, Jacob and Iris would work through what they learned and applied it to magic. Every Saturday Iris and Lucy looked through genealogy and political statutes, trying to study at the same time as they found other people to join their group, while Dev and Jacob tinkered with machines.

            Leo Hall turned out not to be a Squib—Lucy went back thirteen generations, and there was no one magical in his family. So technically, telling Lucy was illegal, unlike telling Jacob all those years ago. Not that Lucy cared. She continued her minor in poly-sci, and Iris majored in it, and they realized that the best way to tackle this problem was to create a Muggle Relations department, and they started working on its rules, consulting with other Muggleborns, people in the Ministry, and even their Government Professor, who turned out to be a first-generation Squib. Professor Carter was ecstatic to get a chance to be involved at last, and she and her husband let Iris and Lucy work on a secret project about this for credit, which meant that they had loads of extra time to work on it without worrying about their studies.

            That turned out to be quite important indeed in their second year. After all, they had to fit in all of their works, more intense meetings at the Ministry, travelling around the country in the little purple van to locate more Squib families, and, of course, date nights, both Jacob and Dev’s and theirs.

            Iris almost didn’t tell her dads. She did of course, but she still cringed when Dad crowed that “I told you so!”

            Lucy told her family right away. A couple joked that she and Albus had a lot in common. Uncle Harry laughed like crazy. Mum and Dad were ecstatic.

            “The best kind of relationship you can have is one working to a common goal,” Dad said, kissing Mum’s cheek.

            And Lucy knew that their goals would change and grow, because they wanted to have a Ministry department and make magic computers and work on wizarding prejudice and revolutionize Muggle studies…and she knew that Iris would be there.

            After all, the van was full now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get points for getting the references in this one, there's a couple.   
> Next week we catch up with Miss Lily Luna, who never does things by halves.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	11. Love Squared (Lily Luna Potter/Leila Marcos/Tilly Ascough/Danny McEvoy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily Luna Potter was born to love, and love well. All her partners agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your pre-reading, I would highly recommend 'Pity the Living', which will give you some background on Danny, and 'A Sporting Good Time' (within the Fading Scars hub story), for some background on why the hell there's track and field at Hogwarts.   
> I'm playing a bit fast and loose with what's known of other wizarding schools, but this was all I could find on Pottermore, and I made some educated guesses.   
> I am also playing a bit fast and loose with French--I'm technically bilingual, but it's been a while. I also just didn't bother with accents, please don't murder me.   
> And the Arabic is Google translate.

_Leila_

            “Potter!”

            Lily turned. So did Al, next to her. It was rather confusing; she’d prefer to be called by her first name. She couldn’t imagine how her other cousins managed with the constant “Weasley!”

            It was Professor MacMillan. Lily’s heart sank. Her Head of House was very strict, and if he’d heard about her helping Al, Rose and Scorp…

            Professor MacMillan didn’t look cross, though. He looked rather nervous. “How are you, Potter?”

            “Well enough, sir. Can I do something for you?”

            “I’d like you to come meet a new student. She’s been Sorted into Hufflepuff, and she could use a Badgerina’s help.”

            Al snorted at the name, but Lily was fiercely proud of the group. It was a long-standing Hufflepuff tradition, involving anyone who wanted to be in it. The only requirement was that someone be in Hufflepuff, and they had to do several good deeds and not get caught doing them in a year. This led to the group being made up of a lot of kind but sneaky people (several of whom were Hatstalls) and they had a lot of fun. Lily had joined her first year, and she found it almost as fun as Quidditch.

            “Can Hugo help me?” Lily asked, waving goodbye to Al as she set off with Professor MacMillan.

            “Of course. It’s just…she seems a bit shy. She’s from Koldovstoretz, but she wasn’t doing well there, so her parents sent her here.”

            “She must be lonely,” Lily sympathized.

            “Well, do your best to make her feel welcome,” MacMillan said. He gestured to the portrait. “She’s in the common room.”

            “What’s her name?” Lily asked.

            Professor MacMillan winced. “That’s the trouble, Lily. She won’t tell me.”

            “ _What?!”_

“You’ll see.”

            Confused, Lily stepped through. The common room was almost empty, like always at lunch time.

            A girl was sitting on the sofa, a trunk at her feet. She was wearing the Hogwarts uniform with a Hufflepuff scarf, but she also had a scarf on her head, sort of like the one Aunt Luna wore when Lys and Lorcan’s grandmother came to visit. What was it called again? The girl had a very pretty one; it was black with yellow flowers embroidered along the edges.

            “Hello!” Lily said. “I like your—is that a hijab?” There, she’d remembered it.  

            The girl didn’t answer, but she looked up at Lily.

            Worried that the girl would think she was being rude, Lily rushed on. “Welcome to Hogwarts. My name’s Lily, we’re in the same year. Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

            The girl didn’t answer.

            “Please don’t be angry with me. I didn’t mean to be rude. I can go get someone else if you like?”

            The girl was still looking at Lily very intently. Then she said, slowly and carefully, “Je ne parle pas Anglais. Je parle Francais.”

            “What?” Then Lily understood. “Oh. Je parle un peu de Francais. Je m’appelle Lily.”

            “Je m’appelle Leila Marcos. Est-ce que c’est difficile, ecole dans un autre langue?”

            “Nos lecons sont en Anglais. C’est un ecole Anglais.”

            Leila leapt up. “Quoi? C’est France, non?”

            “Non. C’est E—um…Scotland? C’est Poudlard!” Lily was grateful that she’d learned the French word for Hogwarts.

            “QUOI?!”

            “Ou penses-tu que tu es?”

            “Beauxbatons!” Now Leila looked scared. Luckily, Lily knew what to do. She dashed to the fireplace and tossed some Floo powder in.

            “Shell Cottage!”

* * *

 

            Luckily Aunt Fleur was at home, and she was able to come through and help.

            Lily didn’t understand all of it, but she got the rest of the story as it was retold twice, first to a red-faced Professor MacMillan and then to a very confused Professor McGonagall.

            Leila was indeed from Koldovstoretz, but her family was from Morocco. The Russian school was a rough, demanding school, and Leila had hated it, especially because several of the other students made fun of her chunni (“Oh, it’s not a hijab! Sorry!”) and the teachers refused to let her pray. Her parents had taken her out, and decided to send her to Beauxbatons instead, since she was fluent in French as well as Russian and Arabic. But somehow her Portkey had gotten mixed up, and she’d appeared on the steps of Hogwarts. She’d explained to the house elves that she was a new student, and they’d dutifully gotten the Sorting Hat, and once she’d been deemed a Hufflepuff, brought her to Professor MacMillan.

            “The one time I decide to take a day off!” Professor McGonagall sighed, exasperated.

            The solution was obvious. Leila’s parents were contacted, and in the meantime Fleur offered to stay and act as translator. Lily stayed too. Her French was okay, and with Aunt Fleur there she was able to teach Leila how to play Exploding Snap. By the time the Marcos arrived, Leila was laughing and Lily had lost seven times.

            “Baba!” Leila rushed to her father’s side. The man hugged her tight. Her mother put a hand on her arm.

            Aunt Fleur started explaining, and Leila’s parents started talking. Leila finally interrupted.

            “Baba, est-ce que je peux rester ici? J’aime Poudlard—Hogwarts. J’aime Lily.”

            Leila’s mother looked at Lily. “My daughter wants to stay.” Her accent wasn’t as thick as her daughter’s. “But I am concerned about her understanding her lessons.”

            “I can help a bit,” Lily said. “I know some French.”

            “I learn language fast too,” Leila said slowly. “I can try.”

            “That’s good.” Lily thought for a second. “And really, a lot of our magic is in Latin anyways.”

            “Why don’t I come for your lessons, Leila?” Aunt Fleur looked excited. “My English has gotten much better, and I can translate when you’re confused. I can teach Lily more too, so you two can communicate.”

            “Yes.” Leila smiled shyly at Lily. “I can teach too.”

            “I’d love to learn more!” Lily said quickly.

            And so it was decided. Aunt Fleur would be Leila’s translator, and Lily was in all of her classes. She and Hugo, who’d learned some French too, helped Leila with writing homework, and encouraged Leila to try out for Quidditch. Leila, it turned out, was a natural on a broom, and she was one of the best Chasers Hogwarts had seen in ages.

            Leila’s English got better quickly—“I already know three languages, the fourth is not as hard”, and by Easter Aunt Fleur went back to full time midwifing. Leila and Lily still spent time together, and Leila was teaching Lily Arabic.

            “It’s a tricky language, but I like it.”

            Lily struggled a bit, but she did it anyways, because that meant spending time with Leila before the sun rose in the common room. They ate buns they begged from the House Elves and Leila taught her the characters and reading and a few new words every day.

            She also taught Lily what it meant to have a major, deep crush on someone.

            This sent her into a bit of a panic—not because Leila was a girl, or even because she was Sikh (her parents already knew that Leila was bisexual), but because _how_ could someone feel all this at once and not explode? This terror and need and joy and glory—was this normal?

            She Flooed home and crawled into her mother’s bed for the first time in ages at midnight, and Mum helped her through it.

            “Lily,” Mum whispered, “darling, I don’t think you have a crush. I think you might be falling in love with this girl.”

            “I can’t be in love!” Lily protested. “I—I’m too—”

            “Age has nothing to do with it.” Mum sat up, careful not to wake Dad. Lily would talk to him later. Right now it was between her and Mum. “It’s about how you feel. And you need to tell her.”

            “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

            “Then she doesn’t. But Lily, be honest with her and with yourself. You’ve always loved hard, darling, but you love true.”

            Lily returned to the Hufflepuff common room just before dawn. Leila was already there with two enormous cinnamon rolls. “Where were you?”

            “I went to see my Mum—my _māmā_.” Lily sat down. “Leila, I know you have a plan for teaching me words, but there’s something I want to learn.”

            “Sure.”

            “How do I say…how do I say ‘I love you’?”

            Leila handed her a cinnamon roll and picked up her quill. She wrote it out. “أحبك,” she answered out loud.

            “Then…أحبك, Leila,” Lily whispered.

            “أحبك, Lily.”

            “That’s how I said it!” Lily protested. She’d gotten the pronunciation right for sure!

            Then Leila kissed her, and she understood.

 

_Tilly_

“Come on, Leila!” Lily stomped her foot. “We’re going to be late.”

            Leila poked her head out the door, chunni askew. “You’d better go on without me.”

            “No, what’s wrong?”

            Her girlfriend looked at her miserably. “I’ve…got a cold.”

            “No you don’t. Come on Lei, what’s wrong?”

            “I just…I don’t want to go.”

            “Why not?”

            “I don’t like running around.”

            Lily went over to her. “Well why didn’t you say anything?”

            “Because…well, we play Quidditch together. And I’m your girlfriend.”

            “Yes, but we don’t have to do everything together!

Leila fidgeted with her scarf. “Lily, can I just watch?”

            “Of course you can! You don’t have to come with me at all.”

            “I like watching you run,” Leila clarified. “You’re beautiful.”

            Lily blushed. “Come on. _I’m_ going to be late.”

         

* * *

 

            Lily bent over, breathing heavily.

            “Well done, Lily,” Coach Ryker said. “You’ll be a great addition to the team.”

            Lily beamed, her hair tumbling into her face.

            “Here, use this.”

            Lily looked up. And up.

            The girl in front of her was nearly a head taller. Everything about her seemed long and dark; long dark legs and arms, long dark hair that was barely held back by a bright yellow hair tie. She was holding out a pink one to Lily, and dark piercing eyes examined her over full lips turned up in a smile.

            “Mine break all the time. Still haven’t found a good spell for them.” The girl moved her hand. “I’m Matilda Ascough. Nice to meet you.”

            “Lily Luna Potter.” Lily took the hair tie and put her hair up, her skin hot. “I haven’t seen you around before this year.”

            “I’ve actually been going to Muggle school. Dad wanted me to get a chance to compete before I committed to magic.”

            “What’s your sport?”

            “Javelin and shot put.” Her arms looked like it. “You’re a good runner.”

            Lily shrugged. “I played football last year, and Uncle Dean said I might be better at this. I liked the running more than the game. Quidditch is more fun. Don’t tell him I said that.”

            “I wanted to try out for Quidditch, but technically I’m a first year, so I can’t play yet. Maybe next year.”

            “How old are you?”

            “Fifteen.”

            “So you won’t graduate until you’re twenty-two?!”

            “I might only go until OWLS. I’m not sure what I want yet.” Matilda smiled. “Suppose I should figure that out.”

            “Lily, you were wonderful!” Leila ran up and took her hand, beaming. “I’ve never seen you run so fast!”

            “She’s built for distance running,” Matilda said. Lily couldn’t stop her blush.

            Leila tilted her head. “Who are you?”

            “Matilda Ascough. Suppose you two can call me Tilly, Matilda’s a name for a much more grown up person.”

            “Hi. I’m Leila, Lily’s girlfriend.”

            “I know, I’ve seen you two around. You’re an adorable couple.” Tilly shook Leila’s hand. “Do you run?”

            “No, I fly. I’m a Chaser.”

            Tilly laughed. “Excellent! Think you could give me some pointers? I want to try out for that next year. I guess we’ll be on different teams…”

            For the first time, Lily noticed the red and gold on her nails.

            “I think we are.” Leila smiled tightly, putting an arm around Lily.

            Tilly smiled. “Well, why don’t we see about that on a date? By the lake after dinner tonight?”

            Leila blinked. “I told you, we’re girlfriends! Not friends.”

            “I was including both of you in that ‘we’, Tilly drawled. She winked at them. “What do you say?”

            Lily stared at Leila in shock. “Both of us?” She would never cheat on Leila. She loved her, loved her deeply.

            But Tilly was beautiful, and Leila had noticed too. And there was something there, something that felt right now that they were both in front of her.

            Lily looked at Leila. _You okay with trying this? It’s sudden…_

Leila answered out loud. “We’ll be there.”

            “Lovely!” Tilly took Leila and Lily’s hands and kissed them. “See you later, lovelies!”

            That night they stayed out until the stars came out, and Tilly showed them how two could become three so very easily.

* * *

 

            “Alright, that’s it for today everyone, class dismissed. Read chapter four for next week, and this one will be tested.” Dad hesitated as everyone began to pack up. “Lily Luna, can you stay here a moment?”

            “Sure, Dad.” Lily kissed Leila’s cheek. “Save me a seat.”

            She saw her father frown, and she tensed. What was wrong? Was she about to get a lecture about making sure her relationship didn’t interfere with OWL studying?

            Dad waited until everyone was out of the room before he beckoned Lily closer.

            “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” Lily said. She had done a few things, but there was no way Dad could know yet.

            To her surprise, that made her father look sad. “I’m not angry, Li-lu. Just…can you sit down a moment?”

            Lily stayed on her feet, worried now. “Dad?”

            Her father took her hands. “I suppose there’s no easy way to say this. Lily…I saw Leila kissing Matilda Ascough. I thought you should know.”

            Lily burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it.

            “I’m not joking, Li-lu. I wish I was—”

            “No, Dad. I know you’re not. It’s just…” Lily trailed off. She hadn’t told her family about the latest development in her love life yet, because she didn’t really know how to say it. But clearly that had been a mistake.

            “What is it? Have you two broken up?”

            “No,” Lily said quickly. “It’s just Tilly…well, she’s with us now, too.”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “It’s called polyamory. Tilly and Leila and I all like each other, so we’re all dating. It’s different, but I like it. We feel a bit more balanced now.”

            Dad was still staring at her.

            “I know it’s unusual,” Lily said, “and I know I should have told you and Mum, but it’s only been about two weeks, and I didn’t really know how to explain it.”

            Her Dad smiled. “Well, that’s lovely, Li-lu.”

            “Really?”

            “Sweetheart, all I want is for you to be happy. I’ll admit that this is a bit new to me, but as long as you’re all kind to each other I don’t see why it can’t work.”

            “We will,” Lily promised. “Tilly explained.”

            “Yes…” her Dad furrowed his brow. “She’s a bit older than you, isn’t she?”

            “Not by much.”

            “Well, I’ll have to have her by for tea with Mum and I to see her. Just to get to know her better, you see. But that’s fine. Is that relationship public?”

            “Not yet. Like I said, we’re still learning.” But it was so lovely to learn.

            “Alright. Then I’ll refrain from making jokes?”

            “Dad!”

            “I’m your Professor and your father, it’s my right!”

 

_Danny makes Four_

Lily positively _hated_ NEWTS.

            She and Leila had to spend nearly all their time studying, and for what reason? Lily had no idea what she wanted to do after Hogwarts, only that she didn’t want to do anything anyone in her family was doing. She wanted her own place, her own job.

            Leila was studying almost for fun (Aunt Hermione loved Leila’s colour-coding schemes)—she was brilliant, she could do whatever she wanted. But Leila was confused too. Professor MacMillan told them not to worry, that something would come up, and they should just work hard until they figured out a solution.

            Tilly was still a year away from OWLs, but she went to the library with the two of them. She was a good motivation for getting their work done quickly and correctly—that meant more time spent doing more interesting activities. Roxanne had already kicked the three of them out twice that year for those ‘activities’, although she should bloody talk.

            One night in January Lily simply couldn’t concentrate. It was another stupid paper for Transfiguration, and she loved that class but honestly she just didn’t _care_ anymore, and she was tired, and Tilly and Leila were in a sort-of row and still hadn’t made up. Lily put her forehead on her knees and sighed deeply.

            Then she screamed in surprise.

            There was a boy under the table a few feet away, holding a cat.

            “What’s going on?” It was Roxanne’s voice, amplified.

            “Sorry, Roxy,” Lily called. “I got startled. I’m alright.”

            “Was it one of your girlfriends?” Her cousin’s voice was amused.

            “No!’ Lily said indignantly.

            “Alright then.”

            Tilly and Leila were staring at her like she’d gone mad, but Lily crawled under the table. The boy looked about her age, but she didn’t recognize him. There were a lot of kids in her year; twenty-six in the female Hufflepuff dormitory alone. Dad called it the baby boom.

            “Hullo,” Lily said. The boy looked scared, and he backed away from her a bit. “Are you okay? Do you want me to get Roxy?”  

            “Roxy?”

            “Madam Blythe,” Lily corrected herself.

            “Oh. No thank you. I’m alright down here.”

            Lily hesitated. Something about this boy was familiar. But it wasn’t him she was thinking of, it was of another cousin, who had two partners just like she did, who clung to a string of worry-beads on bad days.

            “Do you want to be alone?”

            “I don’t mind it,” the boy said.

            That settled that. Lily scooched a bit closer, her hands on her knees. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lily.”

            “Danny. I’m okay, really. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just easier to think down here, sometimes.”

            “Lily? Who are you talking to?” Tilly’s head was upside down, and her ponytail was falling in her face. “Oh, hi. Want more company?”

            “You three were studying,” Danny protested. “I don’t really need—”

            “It’s not always about need,” Lily said, remembering what Uncle George had told her. “It’s about what you want.”

            Danny blushed. His cat purred.

            Lily held out her hand, and the cat rubbed her head against it. “Beautiful cat,” Lily crooned. “What’s she called?”

            “Alice.” Danny stroked Alice’s fur, calmer now as Tilly and Leila joined them under the table. “Hi.”

            “I’m Leila, this is Tilly.”

            “Do you need anything?” Lily asked Danny. “Chocolate, tea, stiff Firewhiskey?”

            Danny looked startled.

            “My cousin Freddie has anxiety,” Lily explained. “He says the last one’s not always the best idea, but it’ll do in a pinch. So long as you have plenty of water.”

            Danny relaxed. “I just needed to be under the table. It helps a lot.”

            “Really?” Leila blinked. “I would have thought it’d be claustrophobic.”

            “Nope. I don’t have that problem. Just the anxiety. It comes out in my magic, which is why I have Alice. She makes it a lot easier. And hiding under here…it’s like a small, safe room.”

            Lily nodded. “Okay. Well, what do you want to talk about?”

            “I…don’t know? You can pick.”

            Lily hesitated, but she asked the one question she hated having to answer most, but everyone else seemed to love. “What do you want to do after school?”

            Danny’s face lit up. “I want to run a home for children.”

            “You do?”

            “Yeah. I mean, I had brilliant parents, and my sister Ellie—she’s the one who got the Headmaster to help me when I was little. But if I hadn’t had them…I don’t know what I would have done. Who I’d be. And we’ve learned so much about war orphans, and it’s still a problem when kids don’t have godparents, or they want to just leave home.”

            “Or if their relatives don’t want them.” Lily thought of her Dad, of God-Grandfather Sirius, of Bailey Longbottom (but born Bailey Harvey). “Or if they’re Muggleborn and in a bad place.”

            “Yes, exactly! And I…well, I like kids. Kids are great! I want to take care of them, but I don’t want to have kids myself. There’s plenty who are alive who need a home.”

            “I think that’s brilliant,” Leila said.

            “You do?” Danny smiled shyly. “I know it’s not exactly magical or exciting…”

            “It could be!” Tilly clapped her hands. “You could have programs for the little ones so they could learn before they come to Hogwarts, and do plays and sports and stuff!”

            “And there would be different kinds of kids, right? Maybe even from other countries; I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a wizard’s home for children.” Leila was tugging at her chunni. “And you’d want to make sure everyone learns about the world.”

            “And you could design the place so everyone felt welcome,” Lily finished. As she spoke, a design was taking shape in her mind. Astoria Malfoy had taught her the basics of architecture last summer, but Lily had given up when she realized how dull architecture could be. But building a house like this…and living in it, making it a home for anyone who crossed its threshold…

            She stopped. “Sorry, Danny, we didn’t want to run away with your idea.”  

            But Danny’s smile was huge. “No, this is great! I need help for sure. I know the legal parts of it—you know, figuring out adoption and guardianship and money and all that. But I was worried about how to do the rest alone.” He blushed. “I’ve needed lots of under the table thinking for that.”

            “I think we should do it,” Tilly said. “At least get started. We can build the house and sort out all the details we can, then get started.”

            “But we’re all very young ourselves,” Leila replied. “Do we really know much about taking care of children?”

            Then Lily had a thought. “What about the Shelter?”

            “The one Coach Dean works at?”

            “Yeah, with Parvati and Aunt Fleur. They mostly help grownups, but sometimes they have children with them. We could ask them for help, and maybe they could help us for the first couple of years.”

            “And I was going to leave after OWLs anyways,” Tilly said. “I could get started learning about childhood development, I’d get into uni easily.”

            Danny eyes were bright. “You really want to help?”

            “I have a wonderful family,” Lily said. “Wonderful people who love me, and I grew up happy. Everyone should have that chance.”

            “Can we really be parents, though?” Leila asked. “I mean, we’re all technically adults now, but…we’re still pretty young.”

            “That’s something I worried about at first,” Danny admitted. “But maybe…maybe we don’t have to be parents, at first? Maybe we can just be grownups who are taking care of them? And it’s going to take a little while to set up properly, anyways. We need funds.”

            “We need plans,” Leila said.

            “We need training,” Tilly said.

            “And we need a home,” Lily said.

            All that was an awful lot of work, but it was _work_ at last. And Lily had a feeling that by the time they had that done, they’d be ready.

            She also noticed that Leila was eyeing Danny in more than a friendly way, and Alice was in Tilly’s arms already. And Danny had lovely eyes. He was looking at them too, more hesitant, but when Lily raised an eyebrow at him, his smile grew bigger, and he reached out for Lily’s hand.

            And that day in January, under a table in the Hogwarts library, Lily had a feeling that when they did this work, they would do it together, all four of them, bound by the same love.

            And that’s precisely what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone loves my little polylovers as much as I do!   
> Next week, we're going to have a little chat between Lily and Harry, as they encounter what the wizarding world at large thinks of her relationships. Well, one green-quilled, buggy member, anyways...  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	12. Finding Dragons (Hugo Granger-Weasley/Ricky Morris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugo's made a friend nearby who needs his help. More than that, Ricky needs dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious warning for domestic and child emotional and psychological abuse, seen through the eyes of a nine-ten year old.   
> I want to be very clear that nothing about this situation is okay, and if someone is hurting you like this it is real and valid. Also remember that Hugo is only nine and doesn't see everything his parents do behind the scenes. Don't worry--Hermione and Ron provide lots of security and support for Rhonda Morris, and the husband meets an...interesting fate, one that Hugo doesn't find out about until later.   
> Also, if you're interested in the chat Hugo has with his Mum about marriage, that would be 'A Question of Marriage'.

            Ricky Morris moved into Hugo’s neighbourhood when Hugo was nine years old.

            That was about the time that Mummy started missing having Muggle friends, and she started the book club. Ricky came to the first meeting, along with his mother’s apologies.

            “His father went to the bar, and I couldn’t find a babysitter.” Rhonda had the brightest red hair that Hugo had ever seen, even brighter than Daddy’s. But that was all that was bright about her. The rest of her was pale or dark, with no spark of life. Hugo was a bit afraid of her.

            He was a bit afraid of Ricky at first too. Where his mother was pale, Ricky was almost wraith-like. Thin to nearly skeletal, he had his head down and didn’t speak much.

            “Mummy,” Hugo whispered, “Can Ricky have a cookie?”

            Ricky had quite a few cookies that night, and he and Hugo eventually got to talking. Ricky liked maths, and he taught Hugo some that Mummy hadn’t taught him yet. Hugo gathered his courage, and showed Ricky some of his drawings.

            Ricky was fascinated. “Can you draw me something?”

            “Sure. What do you want it to be?”

            “Can you draw a dragon? I know they’re not real, but…”

            It was on the tip of Hugo’s tongue to say of course they did, and he had an uncle who worked with them, but then he remembered. Of course, Ricky was a Muggle.

            “I’ll draw you the best dragon I can think of,” he promised. “It might take a while, though.”

            “I don’t mind,” Ricky said. “Could I watch you?”

            Hugo hesitated. “You want to watch?”

            But he could see the hunger in Ricky’s eyes, and Hugo had a feeling it wasn’t just for cookies.

            “Sure, mate,” he said warmly.

            Hugo stretched out the dragon project as long as he could, spending long hours debating different colours with Ricky while Mum and Dad made them heaps of snacks. He even wrote to Uncle Charlie, asking for pictures of Norberta. But he didn’t quite draw a Norwegian Ridgeback: he drew a blue dragon instead, with Norberta’s wings but a Chinese Fireball’s tale. Uncle Charlie would have laughed himself sick if he saw it.

            Ricky thought it was brilliant.

            “I’m going to call her Swift,” he declared. “Hugo, can you keep her here?”

            Hugo was confused. “She’s a gift, Ricky, you can have her.”

            Ricky shook his head. “My dad…he won’t like her. He might wreck her.”

            “That’s horrible!” Hugo exclaimed. “He’s not a very good dad.”

            “You can’t tell anyone,” Ricky said. He’d gone pale again, and his eyes had that scared look again, the one they had every time he returned home. “No one will believe me.”

            “My parents will believe you,” Hugo promised. “And my Uncle is…well, he’s a sort of policeman. He’ll make your dad stop.”

            Ricky shook his head. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t hurt Mum.”

            “You’re scared of him!” Hugo exclaimed. “You’re not supposed to be.”

            “Dad knows not to hurt us, Mum and me.” Ricky drew in a deep breath. “When he’s happy, he’s quite nice, and he’ll buy me cars. But if we misbehave, then he gets disappointed, and he takes something we like and breaks it. He says that’s what we’re doing to his heart. And he says that he’s the boss, and if Mum tries to make up lies to the police, no one will believe her, because he’d never hurt us because he loves us. And Mum’s on pills for something—she says I won’t understand until I’m older—but Dad says they make her think funny things sometimes and that’s why the police wouldn’t believe her.”

            “He sounds horrible,” Hugo whispered. It was hard for him to understand, this child who’d been nothing but loved, who’d been told a little about the war and terrible things but was ever so confident in the knowledge that it was over. That the world had been fixed.

            Except it clearly hadn’t, because Ricky was sad and scared.

            “I’ve got to tell my Mum and Dad, Ricky. They can help.”

            “I don’t want their help!” Ricky said. “Dad’s not all bad. He’s doing his best. Mum says he can’t help it, that he was born not loving people right, so this is just how it happens. And Mum still loves him. I love him.”

            Hugo was turning ten the day after this conversation. He felt much older.

            He told Mum anyways, and Mum looked cross, and then she told Dad, and Dad shouted. Hugo had never seen his father get so angry before—he and Mum had rows, of course, but it was never like this. Like Ricky’s Dad was some horrible creature.

            Mum told Dad to calm down, that he wasn’t helping, and she gave Hugo a hug and told him that he was absolutely right to come to them.

            “I’m going to have a talk with Ricky’s Mum, okay darling? You stay here with Dad.”

            “By yourself?”

            “Don’t you worry about Mum,” Dad said. He pulled Hugo into his lap. “Come on, how about you and I make some biscuits?”

            The biscuits were in the oven by the time Mum came back, and she looked like Crookshanks did when he was angry. Hugo half-expected her to start spitting.

            She _was_ hissing.

            “Unbelievable…manipulative monster…”

            She was also swearing between the words.

            “Hermione!” Dad said. “Calm down, love. What’s happened?”

            Mum stopped hissing. She sat down, and put her head in her hands.

            “Mummy?” Hugo asked hesitantly. “Did somebody hurt you?”

            Mum reached over and took his hand. And she started crying. That set Hugo off—something terrible must have happened. Mum didn’t cry very often, and there was always a sad reason. Hugo cried more easily than that, and he was sobbing now.

            “Mummy, what happened?”

            “Alright now,” Dad whispered. He picked up Hugo and sat them both down beside Mum. “Do we need to call anyone, ’Mione?”

            “No.” Mum said. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to scare you. Ricky and his Mum are okay. I had a talk with his Mum, and she said some things that made me sad and angry.”

            “Like what?”

            “She said Ricky was lying.”

            “Ricky wasn’t lying!” Hugo said indignantly. Though he wasn’t quite sure. As far as he knew, he’d never been lied to in his life.

             “I know he wasn’t,” Mum said grimly. “His Mum, though, said that he just took it hard when his father disciplined him. And she said that she loved her husband very much, and he loved her and Ricky to bits. Then his father came home.”

            “Did he now?” Dad asked. His arm was tight around Hugo’s waist.

            “He was very charming,” Mum said, her voice cold. “He said he’s heard so much about us, and wasn’t Hugo Ricky’s new friend, and it was lovely to see me. And Ricky’s mum…she hugged him and kissed him. I think she’s really in love with him, Ron.”

            “Bloody hell.” Dad bit his lip. “Hugo, do you want to go upstairs?”

            Dad was giving him an out, a way to stop listening to the conversation. He could go upstairs and work on a project, and later on Mum and Dad would come up and give him a shorter version of what had happened and what was going to happen next. This was usually what they did when there was a grownup discussion, like when there was a problem with Grandmother Helena’s health, and Mum and Dad needed to talk about what to do.  

            But this was about his friend, and Hugo needed to stay. “I’m okay, Dad.”

            “You’re not okay,” Dad said. “There’s no way you could be, and you don’t have to be. Believe me, I know.”

            “I mean…I’m okay to listen. He’s my friend, I want to know.”

            Mum sighed. “Hugo, the trouble is that sometimes people say they love you and they don’t mean it. They pretend to love you until you love them, and then they start trying to control you. That makes it very hard for people to get out of that situation, because they still love the bad person. Ricky’s Dad is like that. I don’t think he cares about Rick and his Mum at all, but it makes him feel powerful to have them love him.”

            “Why would you do that?” Hugo asked. “Why would you hurt someone like that?”

            “People sometimes want bad things,” Dad said. He kissed Hugo’s head. “And sometimes that’s all they know, and sometimes it’s something that’s wrong in their head…but what you need to understand is that Ricky’s Mum needs help, but she’s going to have to decide to take help.”

            “What about Ricky?!” Hugo demanded. “He needs help, and he asked for it!”

            “Yes, he did. And he was very brave to do so. But they’re his parents. If there’s nothing the police can do…”

            “But that’s not fair!” Hugo cried. “That’s not right!”

            “I know it’s not.” Mum put her hand on Hugo’s cheek. “Dearest, don’t worry. We’ll help Ricky as much as we can, okay? His mum said that Ricky wanted to go away to school next year.”

            Hugo nodded. Ricky had talked about a school, Clearwater, a few-hours train ride away.

            “Ricky said it’s too expensive, and his dad won’t let him.”

            “Well, we can arrange a way around that,” Dad said. “We can give him money in a scholarship, and his father won’t know it’s from us. That way Ricky can spend some time away from home, and that might help his Mum.”

            “I put up some protection charms too,” Mum added. “They’re not noticeable, but if anything gets bad Dad and I will know right away, and we’ll get help. Alright?”

            “You promise?”

            “I promise. We’ll do everything we can. They’ll be safe, until Ricky’s Mum decides that she’s had enough, alright?”

            Hugo nodded. “Can I go upstairs, Mum?”

            “Of course. Do you want one of us with you?”

            “No thanks. I just need quiet.”

            “Alright.” Dad hugged him for a long minute, then it was Mum’s turn, and then Hugo went upstairs. He was so tired, all of a sudden, tired and hurting, and when he fell into bed he went straight to sleep.

            He woke up what must have been about an hour later. Mum and Dad were whispering fierce whispers outside his door.

            “Ron, I can’t make the woman do anything. It’s not right.”

            “Damn it Hermione! I spent six years hearing the same fucking thing from my parents about Harry. How it wasn’t their place, how it was bloody Dumbledore’s decision. We _knew_ he was being treated badly, we could never do anything!”

            “I know Ron, I know.” Mum sounded like she was crying. “But she loves him. And I believe…I really believe he loved her once.”

            “So practicing Legilmency is alright?”

            “Ronald!” That whisper was almost a whistle.

            “I’m sorry.” And Dad meant it—his voice was a mumble now.

            “I looked because I wanted to see if there was anything, any scrap of abuse so we could call police. But Ron, I’ve seen this at work. She has to pull herself out, or she won’t heal. She won’t be able to be a mother to her son. And Ron…I don’t think he’s a complete psychopath. He did love her, once. But he got bored.”

            “Fucking…” then Dad said a word that Hugo knew was a bad-adult word. The other words Dad used sometimes were adult words, Mum explained, ones that you shouldn’t use until you were one, but then there were some that even adults shouldn’t say.

            “He’s a bad person, Ron. And I know it’s abusive. But we need to focus on Ricky first. We need to keep him safe. And then, well…I can try becoming friends with Ricky’s Mum. That will help her, and maybe I can talk her round.”

            The next day Ricky came over, bursting with news of the scholarship, and Hugo was delighted for him. He would miss Ricky dreadfully, but Ricky swore he would write, and that meant his friend was safe. Over the next year, Mum met with Ricky’s mum a lot, and eventually Ricky’s parents separated, with Ricky’s Mum throwing out his Dad.

            Two thoughts came into Hugo’s head that night—one good, one bad. The first was the good one—that he wanted to help people in all kinds of situations where the police might not be able to help. That one would eventually lead to his career as a private detective, using art to solve crimes of all manners. The second one was more sinister, born of the simple logic of ten year olds. If Ricky’s parents had once been happy—Mum must be right about that, Mum was always right—then maybe marriage made things harder. And Mum and Dad already had rows. What if…what if something like that happened to them?

            That thought was soothed by a talk with his mother[1], but as he grew older he gained a painful wisdom from that fear: it was easy indeed to hurt the people you loved. And you had to guard against that, and listen, and be loving always.

            It was a kind of poetic justice, then, that Hugo took that wisdom at the age of seventeen, and, in the summer months before his seventh year, applied it to Ricky.

            Ricky, who’d blossomed since the divorce into a calm, kind man who worked every day to make sure he wasn’t his father, who’d discovered their magic at Hugo’s fourteenth birthday party (he already knew how to keep a secret, he swore), and who’d fallen deeply in love with real dragons.

            That summer before his seventh year, Hugo Rubeus Granger-Weasley asked a favour of his namesake, and Hagrid took both boys on a trip into the wilds of the countryside, and found plenty of smaller magical creatures—a few nymphs, a mermaid at the coast, and even a troll, though that was an accident. Ricky was fascinated and asked all the right questions, and Hugo realized two things. One, that he was falling in love with Ricky, and two, that Ricky needed to meet Uncle Charlie.

            So that last week, the three of them took a special Portkey to Romania (really, Lucy’s work with Muggle Relations was paying off), and Uncle Charlie showed them the dragons. To everyone’s shock, Ricky was able to interact with the dragons just fine.

            “I’ve never seen them so calm,” Uncle Charlie said, shaking his head as Ricky played ‘tag’ with Norberta. “You sure he’s not magic?”

            “Lucy checked. He had a Squib in his family eleven generations back, but that’s it.”

            “He might just be good with dragons.” Uncle Charlie watched Ricky toss a ball made from melted metal high, laughing as Norberta caught it. “I’m going to make a Floo call.”

            That Floo call turned into several, and before Hugo returned to Hogwarts Ricky had a job. There was a dragon sanctuary in Scotland, a new one, and they needed people who were good with dragons. More importantly, they needed someone who could liaise with Muggles, who could navigate the relations between the locals and the wizards guarding the dragons.

            Ricky was good at that. He had an owl for the first time, and he peppered Hugo with updates, telling him all about the dragons and the wizards and how everyone was being so kind and it was brilliant, really, feeling like he had a place that wasn’t determined by his past.

            And Hugo was happy, brilliantly so, for the boy he loved. The problem was that Ricky didn’t know that he was the boy Hugo loved.

            Right now wasn’t as much of a problem, because they were both apart by necessity. But Hugo knew the best place to work as a detective was London, at least for a base. That way he could access the Ministry files more easily, and he wasn’t great at Apparition, just like his father. The fear of being Splinched would be a terrible addition to a morning commute.

            This was all hypothetical, of course. He didn’t even know if Ricky would want to live together. He didn’t even know if Ricky returned his feelings. But Hugo wanted to figure out his own ideas before he talked to Ricky. He wouldn’t trap Ricky in a relationship and curtail his dreams.

            By the time Hugo had graduated, he had made up his mind. Hew could start small, start up in Scotland in one of the villages near where Ricky worked. There would be problems to solve up there, and he could always do occasional Apparitions home for visits. Even if Ricky didn’t want to be together, but Hugo didn’t believe that he would reject him completely as a friend. It would be fine.

            Then, at Hugo’s graduation party, Ricky completely upended his plans.

            A little bit tipsy on Firewhiskey, Ricky climbed up on to a chair. “Hello, everyone! I have an announcement. I’ve been in talks with Iris and Lucy, and I’ve decided to join the Muggle Relations team. You know, as a Muggle.”

            Hugo watched in shock.

            “So I’ll be in London soon, and I’ll be working on the magical creatures end. I’m very excited. So Hugo…” Ricky stumbled off the chair. “Will you get a flat with me? I really want to see you all the time, and kiss your face. A lot.”

            “Really?” Hugo blushed as Freddie whistled. “I thought…I thought you wanted to stay in Scotland.”

            “No, wanna stay with you.” Ricky leaned their foreheads together. “Wanna do this work, but I can be anywhere. I just want to be with you.”

            “That’s what I wanted to do!” Hugo exclaimed. “I was going to move to be with you.”

            “We’re silly!” Ricky declared. “We should have just told each other that.”

            “Wasn’t sure you liked me back,” Hugo said.

            “Hugo.” Ricky took him by the shoulders. “You drew me a _dragon_. And then you gave me _real dragons._ And you gave me cookies. Plus I want to kiss your face. Can I kiss your face?”

            Hugo kissed Ricky instead.

            The next day, when Ricky was sober again, he insisted he’d meant every word. So the two of them found a flat in London, and Swift’s picture held its place of honour in their living room. 

 

[1] See 'A Question of Marriage'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it for this story for now! I started to write Lorcan and Lysander's chapters, but I realized that it is nearly sequel-time in universe, and they will only be 15.   
> Yes, sequel-time! I have started writing it; it's currently sitting at about 3 chapters of...hm, I want to say 20? Maybe 23? It features everyone I've written about so far (Yes. Everyone. Expect some scenes where characters are 'in the library' or 'working on something' or 'sleeping' or wherever I choose to put them when I don't feel like writing dialogue for 50+ characters).   
> Don't fret, I still have some oneshots written to post, and I actually have an idea for another set of quicker oneshots in this universe. They will be called Kith and Kin; Kin will have headcanons for everyone on the family tree, and Kith (meaning friends and such people) is anyone else in the Harry Potter universe. So please send me recommendations; I already have a chapter planned for Ernie Macmillan :)   
> And if you want to see the official family tree (made by the talented Willow-Angel), here you go! http://www.familyecho.com/?p=K8AUK&c=eeli3cl6lb&f=684790528783848513  
> Cheers,  
> Acme

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you have Teddy/Maia and Victoire! Bonus points for people who can guess how they named their daughter. (Hint, one of the names is very dependent on this 'verse).   
> I will be writing a story for each character (most of which will include OCs), though some of them won't be able to be published until the sequel comes out. Yes, I am writing a 'sequel' story for this verse, a big long one. I'll keep posting oneshots regularly, but I wanted to give you a quick look behind the scenes!   
> Cheers,   
> Acme


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